


The Burden of Time

by norvina



Series: when you were young [1]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Humor, Political Alliances, Porn With Plot, Pre-Captain Marvel, Romance, Yonvers - Freeform, a little sad at times, problematic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22028473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norvina/pseuds/norvina
Summary: Vers and Yon-Rogg end up mated after a simple mission gone wrong. Unfortunately, there are some unforeseen consequences.—Yon’s eyebrows draw together as he finally starts to understand, “Does it elaborate on the type of ceremony?”Korath shakes his head in the negative, and Vers hums to herself. Yon rolls his eyes and when he speaks, his tone is harsher than usual, “Oh, speak freely, Vers.”Softly, probably softer than she has ever spoken, she says, “It’s a marriage agreement, for one.”“What?”Vers holds up her middle finger to show off her tattoo, “A marriage ceremony, Commander.”
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg
Series: when you were young [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636147
Comments: 40
Kudos: 131





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for supporting this fic. This is probably one of the most supportive fandoms I’ve ever been a part of and I’m so grateful for all the encouraging and insightful feedback! ❤️❤️

It’s the suffocating heat in the room that wakes her from a dreamless sleep— an unusual occurrence if she’s openly admitting that her nightmares typically rob her of rest. She buries her face into a surprisingly soft pillow as she tries to dispel the headache brewing at the front of her skull. A sweet, almost floral scent alerts her that something is amiss. Her eyes widen and she is suddenly aware of her foreign surroundings.

There is an unfamiliar and enticing weight next to her, but she chooses to ignore it as she wracks her memory for a sensible explanation. Her body slides across the silky sheets as she gets out of the bed. There’s an unfamiliar soreness between her thighs as her feet hit the ground. In the process of fleeing, she yanks a white sheet around her exposed form to protect what’s left of her dignity. _I am so dead,_ Vers thinks bitterly as her feet pad against the stone floor of the bedroom towards what appears to be a bathroom of sorts (she hopes, at least).

The day before is a distant hum in the back of her mind, clouded by something she can’t accurately describe. Whatever it is, it’s thick. Fuzzy, even. Vers remembers receiving the mission details from her Commander, Yon-Rogg, yesterday morning. She had been excited because she was rarely allowed out in the field with her Starforce team. The idea that she might have screwed up causes a thin film of panic to settle in her throat. She closes her eyes as she walks into the unfamiliar room, tightening the sheet around her in an attempt to regain some of her pride.

She can recall the mission clearly enough. The Kree Empire dispatched her Starforce unit to a planet locally called _Seduitera_ (or K-54 according to the Kree Imperial logs). Seduitera is rich with rare crystals that generate massive amounts of power, but the natives have historically been skeptical of outsiders after centuries of protecting their lands from thieves and ravagers. The Kree Empire wants to establish a treaty with the Seduiterans so it can mine the crystals for the benefit of all Kree. In turn, the Seduiterans would gain trained protection and the benefits of Kree technology. Well, at least that’s what they’ve been explaining to Seduitera’s leadership since yesterday morning.

Despite the obvious advantages of aligning their planet with the glories of Hala, the Seduiterans and their leader, the Doyer, were uninspired. She recalls the mood changing when the Doyen invited Starforce to participate in a local tradition, though. The locals were excited. Giddy, even. Her unit’s hope was renewed.

Vers can distinctly remember attending the grand party at the Doyen’s palace and participating in the welcoming toast, but after that, the night is a complete and utter blank. It terrifies her because this has happened before, except for losing one night, she lost decades’ worth of memories about her life. And now she’s woken up next to a stranger, naked and disoriented during a mission. _Fantastic._

Matters only get worse when she opens her eyes and discovers that she is covered in some type of vibrant paint. Her eyes wander down the sheet and she finds layers of colorful stains smeared across the luxury fabric. Vers hands are tinted blue, but as she slackens her grip on the sheet to evaluate her skin, she notices large bright red handprints in normally hard to reach places. She lets the sheet fall to the ground and she discovers that her stomach and thighs are a mixture of purple shades, with the occasional vivid red stand-alone print reminding her that she wasn’t alone. Her neck is littered with a combination of green and blue marks, but they aren’t paint. Vers runs a hand through her hair and feels a sharp sting on her middle finger. She brings her hand in front of her face, eyes tracing over an ancient Kree glyph that she recognizes from her extensive training.

It's the symbol for _mate._

Vers screams.

A loud thump from the bedroom causes her stomach to drop. Her mind is a series of _oh, no, no no’_ s as she picks up the discarded sheet and haphazardly wraps it around her body again. Slowly, she steps out of the bathroom and immediately makes eye contact with the last person she expected to see. Her Commander’s gilded eyes follow her state of undress, trying to make sense of the situation. Vers, who is ahead of the game for the first time, zeros in on his red hands and the lilac tones that caress his muscular figure. Her eyes continue to access him until she is pointedly starring at the cause of the soreness between her legs.

“Really?” Yon-Rogg asks dryly when he follows her eyes.

An uncharacteristic purr slips through her lips as she distractedly mumbles, “Caught red-handed.”

He grabs a tainted pillow from the bed and covers himself, averting his eyes from her skin. Sternly, he asks, “Vers, what did you do? I can’t remember a damn thing.”

Offended, she retorts, “Me? Why do you always assume it’s me?”

Okay, maybe most of the time it is her.

There’s a brief and commanding knock on the double-doors to the room before they forcefully fly open. Minn-Erva and Korath charge in, weapons drawn and ready for battle. If the situation wasn’t so damn bad, Vers might actually get some amusement from the wide-eyed, mortified expression on Minn-Erva’s usually cold and distant face. Korath, on the other hand, remains expressionless except for the light flush on his cheeks. He is pointedly not looking at her, and instead, the Commander. Somehow, naked and covered in paint (and a few sensual bruises), Yon-Rogg is still exhibiting fierce confidence and an air of resilient control. Vers has the strong urge to roll her eyes at the entire charade but thinks better of it. She knows that his eyes are decidedly on her as if this is all her fault.

Minn-Erva clears her throat as she lowers her rifle. Vers is unsure if it is to get the Commander’s attention or if it’s to rid herself of emotion. Either way, her tone carries a semblance of professionalism as she speaks, “Commander, uh, events transpired last night.”

Honestly, she can’t help but snort at the oversimplification because she’s aware of the full extent of the situation. Vers probably just destroyed the only positive relationship she has on Hala because she slept with her best friend, and now her team is aware that she broke Starforce policy with her supervisor. Not to mention the fact that they’re _married._ Vers drawls sarcastically as she considers her reality, “Really? We hadn’t noticed.”

The woman fixes her with a deadly glare, but its effect falls flat as she notices that Minn-Erva is disheveled. Her civilian clothes are in disarray and her hair is wildly unkempt. Her appearance brings Vers some comfort because at least she and Yon weren’t the only ones subjected to an alarming awakening. Unfortunately, Vers still looks like an art project gone wrong and effectively the worst out of all of them. Minn-Erva aggressively snarls, “What did you do?”

Vers sets her shoulders, feeling weak as she admits, “I don’t know! I can’t remember anything.”

Minn-Erva coldly bites out, “Figures.”

Vers has the strong urge to blast her across the room into oblivion but she contains herself when she catches Yon’s eyes once more. He’s always telling her to control the gifts that the Supreme Intelligence bestowed on her so she could be the best version of herself. Most of the time, his warnings are annoying, but today she heeds the desperate look in his eyes. A fit of anger would only make things worse.

“The last thing I remember from last night is participating in the Seduiteran event,” Korath roughly offers, sounding mildly ashamed that he also lost control. Minn-Erva seems to share his sentiment because she nods along with his words politely. Vers wonders if they woke up together, but then tables her thoughts because she has no room to judge.

Vers supplies a little more context, “I remember the toast and the rest is a blur.”

Everyone seems to reach the same conclusion at once, but Yon is the one to say it out loud, “We’ve been drugged.”

Minn-Erva gives her a once over, “Some more than others it appears.”

Another knock vibrates through the room and Vers wants to sink into herself because of the pure embarrassment flooding her system. The door opens less abruptly this time as the Doyen and his servant walk in. The Doyen’s eyes pass between Vers and Yon-Rogg but he does not seem surprised or offended. He smiles knowingly, “Ah, you are all awake. I have brought your copy of the signed treaty. Seduitera is pleased to conduct business with the Kree Imperial and appreciate the display of respect you have shown our people by participating in our traditions.”

Her mouth slightly opens as she considers the Doyen’s words. The last time she checked, their negotiations were rapidly failing. The Doyen had repeatedly gone on and on about the Kree’s lack of understanding and the importance of maintaining tradition. In the sea of wrong, something had gone surprisingly right last night. The Supreme Intelligence would be sated if they brought back Seduitera—hopefully, they hadn’t agreed to anything too ridiculous to achieve their goals.

Looking across the room at Yon, she knew that they had agreed to at least _one_ outlandish thing last night.

Korath reaches for the copy of the treaty and says, “Doyen, we respectfully request a moment to discuss.”

Anger flares up inside of her, “Respectfully my a—”

“Vers,” The Commander’s admonishment stings her pride.

The Doyen smirks then looks at her directly, “I will give you a minute. Many blessings for your future.”

Korath’s eyes move quickly as he reads over the treaty, which is written on genuine parchment. Vers is so used to the technological advancements of Hala that the difference interests her. Even more so because it does not seem unfamiliar or odd in the recesses of her mind. Vers brings the sheet closer to her body while she waits for an explanation. The adrenaline of people bursting through the room is dying down and pure panic is starting to rise in her throat as the weight of her actions comes crashing down.

Vers can’t remember the last time she had sex with someone, or if she ever has for that matter. In the five years that she has been on Hala, she has never taken a lover. Her entire life has been consumed by training drills and becoming the best she could be.

For the first year, she waited for someone to claim her as if she was a forgotten domesticated animal. No one ever came.

She wonders if she’s fallen into passion’s trap before, or if last night was her first time. It seems absurdly cruel that she can’t remember intimacy, even if it is tainted by the partner she’s taken. Being a blank slate is remarkably lonely and it would be nice to recall a time when she was truly united with another person. Even if it was just a simple kiss, or a hand against her cheek without the flinching expectation of a well-laid punch threatening the moment.

Her thoughts are not a proper reflection of a member of Starforce.

Korath’s eyes stop gliding over the parchment and he sighs, seemingly relieved with the outcome of the treaty, “Our mission has been completed.”

Yon-Rogg’s eyes narrow as he observes his subordinate. Minn-Erva looks like a great weight has been lifted from her shoulders but her scowl remains. The tension is the room is thick enough that it is hard to swallow without gasping—at least for Vers.

She knows that their painted bodies are somehow responsible for the completion of the treaty and that she is going to have to explain the situation to multiple people once they return to Hala, including the Supreme Intelligence. Seemingly behind, the Commander asks skeptically, “What does it say?”

“Sir, I think—” Korath starts, the flush returning to his cheeks as he considers his audience. He clearly does not want to be the one to break the news to everyone. Vers doesn’t like the way her nerves toy with her mind as she considers the possibility of intimate details being scrawled across the parchment.

“Korath.”

Her teammate exhales, “The Doyen has granted us usage rights following the Kree Empire’s participation in their most sacred ceremony due to our acceptance of their traditional ways and our preservation of their religious beliefs.” Korath looks around the room, “In summary, our actions last night somehow correspond with the acceptance of this treaty.”

Yon’s eyebrows draw together as he finally starts to understand, “Does it elaborate on the type of ceremony?”

Korath shakes his head in the negative, and Vers hums to herself. Yon rolls his eyes and when he speaks, his tone is harsher than usual, “Oh, speak freely, Vers.”

Softly, probably softer than she has ever spoken, she says, “It’s a marriage agreement, for one.”

“What?”

Vers holds up her middle finger to show off her tattoo, “A marriage ceremony, Commander.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recently updated for clarity issues. Thank you for your continued support for this fic.


	2. Chapter 2

Vers is unusually quiet as Yon-Rogg navigates the Helion to the jump point that will lead directly to Hala. Her silence has set the tone for the entire trip home, whether she takes notice of it or not. Typically, the cabin is filled with her endless questions and occasional self-indulgent one-liners. Minn-Erva customarily sneers and offers her insights when Vers is acting like a child, while Yon-Rogg is quick to ease her curiosity and chide her use of inappropriate (and more times than not, ill-timed) humor. Korath predictably never engages with her, choosing to mimic the dull characteristics of stone instead. Att-Lass and Bron-Char are the most tolerant of her conversant behavior as long as they do not get on the Commander’s bad side by pandering to her excessive need for entertainment.

Att-Lass and Bron-Char seem distressed by the awkwardness brewing within the small space. They were tasked with guarding the ship last night while the others attended the party and have been intentionally kept out of the loop since everyone returned groggy, hungover and pissed off. Yon-Rogg had announced that the mission was successful, apologized for the lack of communication (the first sign something was severely wrong), and proclaimed that they were all returning to Hala immediately without any stops for snacks. Att-Lass gave Vers an odd look when she sat next to him rather than the co-pilot’s chair next to Yon, but she did not offer commentary and he did not push.

The trip back to Hala is not absurdly long but after the presumed night she had, she is a tad exhausted. A litany of unspoken jokes are contained by the pursing of her lips. Perhaps the entire team does not need to know that the Commander is merciless in all pursuits, especially in lovemaking (if she can even call it that). As the haze of the night lifts, she can remember more. They come in hot, intangible snippets—all teeth, heavy touches, and heady panting. Occasionally she can recall a whispered promise or two. Although the memories lack significant context, they do make her thighs clench in an absolutely empty and depraved way. She winces whenever her body prepares for friction that isn’t there.

Vers sighs and looks down at her throbbing finger, if only for a second. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Att-Lass staring at her, curious. In fact, almost everyone is staring at her in some form except for the Commander. He is pointedly not paying her any attention and Vers wonders if he took on the task of manually piloting so he could focus on something less complicated. Minn-Erva and Korath are watching her through reflections but Bron-Char and Att-Lass have opted for a more direct approach.

Att-Lass inaudibly mouths, “What happened?”

She shakes her head, mouthing back a quick, “Nothing.”

Another sign that something is wrong. 

“You are a terrible liar, Vers,” Att-Lass implies with a gentle roll of his eyes.

Immaturely, she sticks her tongue out at him as a challenge. Her change in behavior seems to settle Att-Lass and Bron-Char (who has been patiently watching with most of his body turned towards her despite the harnesses they are all wearing). She almost says something out loud but then she hears Yon clear his throat and her mood turns somber once more. Maybe he was watching her. 

_I’m married to a total buzzkill,_ she pouts, trying not to laugh at her own joke.

Vers eases back into her chair, arms crossed protectively around her body and closes her heavy eyes.

Her awareness does not return until she feels a calloused hand trail down her cheek—even then, her first instinct is to turn into it rather than fight. It’s gentle and warm and deeply contrasts with the relentless punches and kicks her skin is usually subjected to because of her rigorous training. It’s something she’s been missing. The warmth ceases and she groans, reasonably annoyed. Vers opens her eyes when she feels the sharp pangs in her hand, finding Yon-Rogg kneeling in front of her chair, tracing over the fresh and swollen black mark on her finger. Her sleep-addled mind seeks distance from him, so her body tries to sink into her seat. It doesn’t work in her favor.

Yon did not have much to say this morning after she stopped freaking out in the bathroom. Generally, he is the cool-headed one and that is why he has the fancy title. He does not do irrational things—at least nothing she is aware of—and he is not controlled by his emotions. Yon is so different from her and she had hoped that he would have some righteous revelation about their situation, or at least some comforting words other than saying they would have to meet with the Supreme Intelligence and face their punishment honorably.

She’s aware that the eyes are not windows of the soul. It’s a scientific fact that emotions and motive cannot be seen in them, that it’s just something poets say to bring meaning to their words. Vers _knows_ this but she swears she sees fear in his golden orbs as he looks over her. She swallows thickly, mind circling back to everyone’s belief that this was her fault. Had it been her fault, truly? Was she such a liability that she had now ruined the life of the only person that cared about her?

He speaks before she can utter an unjustified apology, “I need you to remember that the Supremor does what is best for the sake of all Kree, even when we are not aware of its immediate benefits.” His fingers play with hers and for the first time, she sees his nearly identical mark up close. His tenderness makes her throat tight. Yon whispers, “Promise me?”

Vers softly breathes, “You’re scaring me, Commander.”

“As a Kree warrior, you are above fear,” He unbuckles her harness with deft fingers, not meeting her eyes. A warm flush covers her cheeks as her mind drifts to less innocent topics. Vers wants to ask him if he has regained any of his memories but she is worried the answer will be _yes_ and she won’t be able to resist asking numerous follow-up questions. The idea of sleeping with her boss should fill her with immense shame but she has always been attracted to him in some essence, always cared for him beyond that. If she’s going to wake up on a strange planet naked, married and hungover, she’s relieved that it was with Yon…

The humorist inside of her wonders what type of conversations she would be having if she had woken up next to an expressionless ass like Korath, or even worse, a vengeful witch like Minn-Erva. She almost smiles at the thought because it would have been truly hilarious to see their faces. Her fanfare for comedy is short-lived when she is reacquainted with his troublesome eyes. There’s not a power in the universe that could convince her that he was not terrified of what the Supreme Intelligence would do. She wants to ask him about his relationship with the AI, but she knows that he will never tell her. Vers has never had a bad experience with the Supremor but Yon often looks shaken after his visits. She wants him to confess his worries to her but he will just deny them if she presses. Even with his continued silence, she can assume that he fears demotion.

Vers will never be able to forgive herself if he loses his high-ranking status because of something she took part in. Yon-Rogg had to work harder than most that hold the title so loosely because of the color of his skin. Some Kree, as she as learned, are outright prejudice when it comes to the non-blue. They are often disregarded and considered last for leadership positions. Yon makes his good standing with the empire look simple. Even when he taught her about the racial issues on Hala (against his will), he had said that he never considered it a hindrance, just motivation to prove old, foolish men wrong. 

“Yon…” Vers voice is not composed when she speaks, but she supposes it is not meant to be when concerning ethereal confessions. Her teeth play with her lip as the thought lingers between spoken and unspoken. The least she can do if he is going to face the wrath of the SI is to admit her feelings about the arrangement. She breathes, “I’m glad it was you, no matter what.”

He simply stands and heads towards the exit.

For her, the Supremor takes the form of a woman that she does not remember. Vers has tried to place her face every time she has communed but has only met failure. At first, she wondered if the woman was her mother. The fact that she could not definitively say if it was her mother or not haunted her. Rationally, the woman does not share any of her facial features. It is a safe bet that the visage that stands before her isn’t a reflection of her mother, but the pain remains. Shouldn’t she be able to instinctively tell? What kind of daughter does not remember her mother? Later, she wondered if the woman had been her trainer, but she does not have the stature of an elite warrior. Perhaps a friend? Maybe an aunt?

The Supreme Intelligence is not abundantly cold towards her despite her recent behavior. Vers had changed out of her uniform into appropriate temple clothing while Yon had rushed to seek council in hopes to lighten its disappointment. She’s grateful for the forethought when it offers her a smirk, “Wherever you go, trouble seems to follow.”

Vers returns the grin even though she should probably show more respect to a million-year-old diety. Her motivation rests in the familiarity of the conversation. She clings to the information that the woman in front of her could have been someone she laughed with a time or two. Did Vers admire her because she understood that laughter and feeling were essential to life, just as dignity and poise were? As time passes, she fears that she will never know the answer. In an acceptable tone, she says, “The mission was completed successfully.”

The Supremor quips, “Yes, you sure have gone above and beyond for your empire.”

More than anything, she wants to tell people that the Supreme Intelligence has a healthy sense of humor and to get their heads out of their asses, but Yon-Rogg has forbidden her from divulging information that is not evidently public knowledge.

Vers tests the limits of the Supreme Intelligence’s patience by smoothly retorting, “I would say my pleasure but…”

As expected, the Supremor gives her a look that advises caution in the future. The tide of the conversation is shifting, and they are moving past standard greetings and towards the real issue. Vers ordinarily seeks communion after she has blown something up with the powers the AI gifted her when she first arrived on Hala. The Supremor will sometimes jest about her hot-headed temper, or it will tease out an apology with gentle coaxing and generated compassion. It recognizes what she needs and it supplies. The relationship she has with the SI and the mentor/mentee relationship she has with Yon-Rogg is similar and that does not escape her attention. The Supremor chides, “Humor is a distraction.”

Vers offers vulnerability as penance for her overstep, “If I don’t laugh, I don’t know what I will do, Supremor.”

The Supremor seems pleased with her bargain and continues the course. It pretends to breathe to facilitate natural conversation, “Your Commander has requested an annulment,” The words hang in the air for a moment as Vers tries to process the sting of rejection in her heart. Yon’s request was logical, sure, but they hadn’t even discussed it with one another. Did the thought of being tied to her disturb him so much that his first reflex was to plead to the Supreme Intelligence for a reprieve? The SI continues, “…and that bothers you?”

Vers does not know how to answer, or even why she has to respond in the first place. The Supremor already knows how she feels about him. It knows about her sexual attraction to her Commander and how she has resisted the urge to think of him in that manner all this time. It knows that she has no real regrets regarding the situation, other than the fact that she can’t remember every glorious moan or sensation. It knows that these feelings frighten her to her core because of their implications and how they starkly contrast with her ambition to be a phenomenal member of Starforce. It knows, yet it asks anyway. 

The Supremor states, “I denied it.”

“What?”

Shocked is an understatement.

The Supremor speaks with the full capacity of its authority, once again showcasing why it is in charge. Instead of being complicated and muddled with senseless emotions (like unharnessed lust), it recognizes the benefits and detriments of their marriage ceremony under Seduitera law. It states, “I will not disrespect our new allies by abolishing or not recognizing this union despite how poorly it reflects on the character of our elite forces.”

“I apologize,” Vers says although she is not sure if she truly means it.

The Supremor does not commentate on whether it believes in the validity concerning her expression of regret, “I recognize your apology as long as you recognize the weight of this situation.”

_What?_

“I don’t follow.”

The Supremor grins once again and this time it unsettles her, “I tasked the Commander with explaining the finer points of family traditions. There are certain expectations. We part now.”

Vers leaves the temple with haste because she is a lowly coward. The last person she wants to run into right now is Yon-Rogg, especially after he just received a life sentence with her. A thousand questions lick at her mind about Kree tradition, marriage rituals, what is expected of her, and more. Would they remain married with partially separate lives? Did he hate her now? Did Yon have a girlfriend she didn’t know about? Was she breaking someone’s heart? Her confusion converts into fuel as she quickly boards a train that will take her close to the Starforce dormitory she resides in. If she was willing to wait for an additional fifteen minutes, she could have been dropped off closer, but she doesn’t have time. Vers huddles into the back of the cart so she will remain unnoticed.

Her quarters are standard and mainly bare of any personal items other than regulatory clothing and a few snacks. It’s easy to keep a pseudo-clean living space when you have nothing of substance to hold on to. Vers strips out of her soft shirt and balls it up on the counter in her kitchenette as she searches for a sleeping tab. For the most part, she avoids the pesky little things because they welcome her nightmares but seeing as she’s living in one at the moment, it appears to be her best option. Plus, it would give her a good reason not to answer any of Yon-Rogg’s calls.

After chugging a glass of water to flush down the medicine, Vers throws herself onto her mattress and waits for sleep to come.

-x-

Her mouth is dry when she wakes up and she feels ridiculously groggy. A light that she had not turned on shines brightly in her eyes and she braces herself for a fight that she’s not sure she could win under the effects of the tab. Quickly, she rolls to face the intruder and is deeply disappointed to see Minn-Erva standing over her with a displeased look on her face as if the position in which Vers sleeps in is another point against her character. All she can manage to say is, “What the fuck?”

“You did not answer your comms or your door,” Minn-Erva rolls her eyes as if breaking and entering is justified under those conditions. Of course, there is probably a Starforce policy somewhere that can be interpreted in Minn-Erva’s benefit. The woman is exceptionally knowledgeable about procedure and the thin lines that soldiers should never cross, and the ones that can be with the proper guidance.

Vers narrows her eyes, “So, you just break-in?”

Minn-Erva glares at her as if she is the most unimpressive person in the universe.

“What do you want?”

Her teammate takes a long, suffering breath as if she would rather be hanging from her ankles in a Skrull trap than in front of her. It’s almost amusing until she says, “It has come to my attention that you may require an emergency contraceptive and as the medic on this team, it is my responsibility to provide you with _care._ ”

Vers stumbles out of bed and sidesteps Minn-Erva so she can get something to drink. Naturally, Minn-Erva’s assumption is spot on. She is certain that _protection_ was the last thing on their minds last night. She fills the glass from before with more water and sips leisurely, allowing Minn-Erva to stew in her distaste while clutching her medical bag. Vers even pretends to savor the water as if it is a delicacy that she has never tasted before. After Minn-Erva huffs, showcasing outright annoyance (and weakness), Vers asks, “Pill or shot?”

The woman grins victoriously, “Shot.”

_Bitch._

She makes a show of shimming out of her loose-fitted pants and rolling down the band of her underwear before relaxing against the edge of the counter on her elbows. Minn-Erva unzips the bag and fiddles around with a few vials. The circumstances are mortifying. Vers tries old tricks to lighten the mood, jokingly saying, “Try not to kill me.”

“If I wanted to kill you, I would not use poison. I would use my hands,” Minn-Erva replies in a tone that is indicative of telling one about the weather or possibly recommending a restaurant. Vers stares up at the ceiling as the woman approaches her because she _definitely_ does not want to see the needle that Minn-Erva plans to use to exact her revenge (no matter how unethical).

Minn-Erva clinically rolls the fabric of her underwear down further so she can administer the shot correctly. Vers is aware that the shot is applied directly into the muscle for the fastest results—not from personal experience. It’s something that she overheard during her extended stay in the medical center after her arrival on Hala. The woman pauses when Vers expects her to plunge the needle in and the room fills with an uncomfortable silence. Suddenly, she asks, “Are those _teeth marks_?”

Vers hums, unaware of how to respond. A cold sensation startles her and Minn-Erva exhales, “It’s just the disinfectant, Twinklefists,” She pauses before speaking her mind, “You communed with the Supreme Intelligence after we landed.” It is a statement, not a question. Vers considers the ruling of the Supreme Intelligence and how it all feels like a distant bad dream in her taxed mind. She’s both aware and unaware of everything and it disturbs her.

“Yeah, and—ow!”

She can hear the smirk in Minn-Erva’s voice as she withdraws the needle and quickly rubs the medicine into her muscles, “Don’t be an infant. What was the outcome?”

“We are respecting the desires of our allies,” Vers offers the rare unemotional answer. She is not about to pour her heart out to someone like Minn-Erva who uses any weapon necessary to defeat an opponent. Especially with her pants down. She has to have some dignity left to her name, especially in her own home.

Minn-Erva laughs.

Sincerely laughs.

Vers turns around to face the woman with a raised eyebrow as she covers her exposed skin, “What?”

Minn-Erva grabs her medkit and coldly smiles, “Oh, nothing. If you experience any severe symptoms, you know where I live. Try not to bother me.” She lets herself out, a laugh still lingering on her lips. Her behavior is enough to raise suspicion but Vers does not pursue her. Whatever Minn-Erva knows is not worth her time or the effort it would take her to put her pants back on. She thinks of the Supreme Intelligence's grin and her thin assurance falters. 

Unwilling to go back to sleep, Vers decides to take a calming shower to rid her skin of the remaining paint once and for all. Her body is consumed by the heavy lather of a flower found in their solar system (although she couldn’t pronounce it even if it meant saving her own life). She imagines that she used something similar before she was attacked by the Skrulls, maybe even this exact brand. She desperately wants to believe that she is the same person she used to be. Psychologically, she knows that her preferences are similar even if she has changed in all other aspects. Her tongue will always favor sweet over salty, and her nose will consistently seek out strong, aromatic warmth. These are basic building blocks that contribute to her sense of self. Unfortunately, they mean nothing when looking at the bigger picture.

The sound of her communicator going off tears her away from her inner-turmoil and overall brokenness. Vers quickly dispels any of the leftover soap from her skin and steps out of the shower, leaving large puddles of water on the tile floor with each step. She reaches for a gray towel and secures it around her form. The identification information of the caller does not match up with her hopes.

It reads: _Bron-Char_

Vers consents to an audio broadcast but does not allow her body movements to be followed. If no one can see her, she does not have to hide the disappointment on her face. 

Bron-Char’s voice is full of life when he realizes the call as been connected, “We heard the news!”

_That fast?_

Skeptical, and unwilling to admit to anything, she asks, “What news? Who is _we_?”

He skips over her first question, and hiccups his response to the second, “Att-Lass and myself.”

Catching on quickly, Vers says, “You’re drunk.”

Bron-Char slurs, “And you could be too, Vers- _Rogg,_ if you joined us at Delirium.”

Delirium is a bar that younger, less skilled, Starforce members attend during their rare free time. It is often filled with traders of all sorts, and guests of Hala that seek the divine wisdom of The Supreme Intelligence and the protection of the Kree Empire. Technically speaking, Yon-Rogg has banned his team from visiting places of low moral standing, specifically bars, to set an example for the rest of Starforce. Vers discovered an untested loophole a few months ago when she pointed out to Att-Lass and Bron-Char that Delirium had excellent (not really) food and could be viewed as a restaurant with entertainment rather than a rough bar. The reason it is still untested is because they have not been caught frequenting the establishment during their time planetside, yet, and did not know if smooth-talking and ambiguities could save them.

Despite the thrill that comes with the prospect of sneaking out, Vers’ heart is rapidly beating for a different reason.

_I have a surname._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! Thank you for your feedback. I am obsessively writing this story until it stops haunting me. 
> 
> What are your thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

The Commander is an excellent investigator so she treats every civilian in her path as a potential, overly willing witness. Her black hood is pulled tightly to shield her face. Her outfit, while not overindulgent of a night out, is not Starforce issue so she’s concealed her skin until she gets to the bar with the thin fabric. Rather than the loose-fitted garbs that are popular amongst her comrades, she’s wearing a pair of black pants that hug her soft curves much like her armor. Underneath her jacket, she is wearing a plain white shirt that is slightly sheer and excessively tight. Vers always dresses this way when visiting Delirium, much to the ill looks of other women hoping to attract a mate in their thin, sensual clothes. Their overt sexualization and rich acceptance of gender norms is the result of a mask that Vers does not wish to wear and likes to assume that she has never wanted to bear. She has been forged and shaped under the fists and prodding of an empire and she will not lower her worth to catch the eyes of fumbling rookies. Especially now that she’s tasted something forbidden, but hotly superior.

Bron-Char and Att-Lass are nestled in the back of the bar, tucked away from curious eyes of casual onlookers. The problem with their “covert” plan is that Bron-Char’s voice carries when he is intoxicated, even over the loud hum of electronic music. Vers easily finds them and once settled, removes her jacket and prepares for their questions. Att-Lass is playing a complicated and ancient card game by himself that she is lousy at because it requires exceptional forethought and patience. In contrast, Bron-Char is eating something greasy in between sips of a glowing green liquid. It seems her teammates have purchased two bottles for the evening, both the green one and a dark blue drink with captivating swirls in its mix that remains uncorked. 

A small voice in the back of her mind tells her to take it easy, and that she shouldn’t even be here, but she drowns it by consuming Att-Lass’s discarded glowing shot and smiles brightly at them.

Bron-Char chuckles appreciatively at her spirit, copying her movement and belching as it goes down the hatch. He yells far too loud, “We want to know everything!”

She looks around the bar and notices that they have gained some attention. People are staring at them and she suspects it is because of their recent successful mission and the fact that they outrank almost every soldier that is currently losing his, or her, better judgment to striking drinks and sensual women. Vers side-eyes Att-Lass, who has assumed the role of babysitter so many times in the past that it is expected of him now. Her friend smiles knowingly and elaborates on Bron-Char’s drunken declaration, “We have been debriefed by the Commander. We were told that you both participated in a marriage ceremony on Seduitera to ensure we were successful in our assignment,” Att-Lass subtly rolls his eyes, “Korath supplied more details, though, and now we are _immensely_ curious.”

Vers wickedly grins, “Do you want to know if the Commander seeks control in all situations?”

If her scarce memories can be trusted, it is safe to say that he _does,_ and she _likes_ it.

“Oh, for the sake of all Kree, Vers,” Att-Lass responds with an embarrassed huff and a stubborn blush on his cheeks, “We wanted to know if you plan on having a traditional ceremony on Hala, or if you two will live as mates…and above all, how this affects our team. We are not interested in your sex life, whatsoever. I want to be able to look our fearless leader in the face.”

She shrugs, “I’m not sure. We haven’t spoken.”

The men share a meaningful look as if they expected this to be her answer. 

“What?”

“We’re sure Yon-Rogg will explain in time,” Att-Lass says quickly, and that unsettling feeling returns to her gut. Minn-Erva’s smugness and the Supremor’s caution toy with her composure. Apparently, everyone around her knows something that she doesn’t—some unspoken Kree thing that she has most likely forgotten. Shame floods her body because _yet again_ she is rendered ignorant because of the attack. Att-Lass shows mercy when he translates her obvious distress, “Look, the Commander does not speak of it, but we know that he comes from a prestigious family—” _Does he?_ “—and they have _certain expectations_ when it comes to mating. No offense, but you probably aren’t what they hoped for and the circumstances aren’t ideal.”

Bron-Char speaks up, “Not that you are not a fine woman, Vers. You have the heart of a warrior.”

His slurred praise does not bring her comfort. The last five years of her life have been about relearning the basics of her people and training to be an asset to Starforce. Vers thought she understood Kree culture, but it turns out that she has been woefully oblivious to many shortcomings. A part of her blames Yon-Rogg for sheltering her from the negatives of society because he is supposed to be her mentor. It never occurred to her that _the best version of herself_ would still fall short in his eyes due to innate standards. It also never occurred to her, until quite recently, that she would care.

Att-Lass pours himself a drink and throws it back with a wince, “They will most likely push for a traditional ceremony to hide their, uh, shame.”

“What does that entail?”

“Marriage rituals are highly personal and sacred, often passed down by parents. My father taught me our ways, the meaning of each step and its significance to our culture,” He pauses awkwardly, “Your mother would have taught you when you came of age. Not everyone preaches blood purity and virginity, but I have heard rumors about the House of Rogg. Just be prepared.”

Her heart skips a beat as she processes the information she has been given, “And you can’t tell me those rumors?”

Att-Lass shifts uncomfortably, “Not without disrespecting your mate and I would sooner die.”

Vers looks at Bron-Char, desperate for his assistance. He grunts, “Leave me out of it.”

Feeling self-destructive and looking for a reprieve, Vers grabs the unopened bottle and pops its top. Her lips press against the rim as she consumes the miniature galaxy. It tastes horrible, burns awkwardly, but she needs a distraction. Bron-Char and Att-Lass have the good sense to not say anything when she stands, bottle in hand, and announces, “In that case, I think I am going to dance.”

Vers finds herself within a crowd of warm bodies, although she never takes a partner. No one cares if you are falling apart on the dancefloor. She spins around, making up her own steps. Occasionally, she brings the bottle to her lips when she desires oblivion. Songs begin and end as she tries to decode her thoughts and everything that has happened. It’s too late for her to take back her earlier admission of attraction, so she won’t. Yon-Rogg holds a place in her heart and always has since she woke up all those years ago. But in her anger, and in her blind need to avenge her former self due to the attack, she compartmentalized her blossoming emotions and focused solely on Starforce. She has not allowed herself to feel for him beyond primitive attraction. Now, she does and it fucking sucks.

She feels rejected, angry, scared, insecure, but mostly drunk.

The rim of the bottle touches her lips again as she spins, and she collides with a strong figure. In the haze, she barely recognizes Bron-Char but when she does, a sloppy smile graces her features and she headily sighs, “Hey, pal.”

Att-Lass joins them, evidently troubled, “We’ve got to get out of here.”

She groans like a child, “Why? We’re having fun.”

He casts an anxious look over his shoulder at the door, “Because Yon-Rogg is looking for you and Korath gave us a head start.”

In a stroke of genius, she yells, “Scatter!”

Vers trips as she frees herself from the crowd but secures the bottle in her hand with a victorious smirk. Att-Lass and Bron-Char follow her quick movements out of the bar. She’s uncontrollably giggling as they navigate the same side streets that she took to get to Delirium. Att-Lass, the closest one to sober, acts as their shepherd. Their military training may be sullied by their inebriation, but it does come in useful as he instructs them to pause at the sound of footsteps. Vers stumbles when she stops, but they are not caught.

At the sight of the dorms, they all begin laughing. If they could just get to bed undetected, they would be fine. Maybe.

As they approach the lobby doors, Att-Lass curses in Kree then adds, “We are so screwed.”

Minn-Erva is standing by the elevator with her arms crossed and a boorish scowl on her lips. Vers does not know what time it is but she is willing to bet that it is past the reasonable hours of the night. She considers the amount of trouble they are in having broken Yon-Rogg’s rules. For the sake of her team, she makes a sacrifice and drains the rest of the drink she carries. Alcohol is not allowed inside of the dorms per Starforce policy and they did not need a _valid_ citation against them. She tosses it in the trash, feeling extremely disoriented as it thrums through her blood.

Bron-Char looks at her—or she thinks he is looking at her—and says, “Agreed.”

They walk into the lobby and Vers stops to hold her thumb up in Minn-Erva’s direction, eyes narrowing as she tries to realign her vision, “Huh, there are two of you.”

Att-Lass holds up his hands pleadingly, trying to placate Minn-Erva. Everyone knows that she favors him, “We’re just going to take her—”

She offers a false smile, “That’s probably best.”

After Vers nearly falls getting into the elevator, Bron-Char picks her up so they can get to her quarters as fast as possible without making a scene. Att-Lass peeks his head out of the elevator doors when they ding open, checking for signs of other team members or their Commander. He exhales, relieved when the hallway turns out to be empty. Bron-Char carries her to her door, and she dangles her wrist over the sensor lock, light-headed and giddy.

Att-Lass starts handing out instructions as the door opens, “Okay, let’s get her to bed and then get the fuck out of—”

“I see you are all done dishonoring your team _, possibly_ the entirety of Starforce,” Yon-Rogg says, turning on the lamp in her living room and startling the dysfunctional troop. His eyes lock with hers for a moment and there’s something there that she has never seen before. _Pure, uncontained emotion._ Vers feels Bron-Char’s grip slip and she ends up lying on her back, staring up at her distorted ceiling with a major headache. She cocks her head to the side, letting her hair slide across the dense carpeted floor, as she considers the situation. Her mind is fuzzy, sure, but even she can recognize that shit has gone south.

Yon-Rogg looks down at her; his lips set in a firm line. He usually only gives her this look after she has blasted a hole into something, or through someone, but even then, it’s never been as severe as the one she is receiving now. In her defense, she didn’t know that his family was so uptight before she went to Delirium. Her lack of relatives has made her insensitive to Yon’s predicament. Her lack of culture has made her impolite. But the weight of everything doesn’t rest on her shoulders, either. She didn’t _ask_ for this. Vers did not land on Seduitera with deception in her heart and lust for her Commander. She has the right to react, no matter how untraditional and disgraceful because this is who she really is underneath all of the training.

A mess.

He grits his teeth, looking away from her, when he addresses Att-Lass and Bron-Char, “You two are dismissed. I don’t have the mind to punish you right now.”

Att-Lass and Bron-Char silently agree to his terms and exit her quarters. Vers sincerely hates them right now for being spared. It hardly seems fair considering they were the ones that offered the invitation. She sucks in a deep breath, but she does not make a move to sit up or stand. The carpet isn’t completely uncomfortable, and she has strong hope that if she falls asleep right here that he will leave. Vers closes her eyes confidently. 

Yon sighs, in the same way Minn-Erva had earlier before he swoops down and picks her up. Her body is thrown over his shoulders unsympathetically as he walks her to her bedroom. She knees him in the stomach, her only reaction to being man-handled, but he barely reacts other than a quick exhale. She whines, “Put me down, Yon.” He complies with her order by unceremoniously dropping her onto the mattress, causing her to gasp for air. 

His eyes appear darker in her dim-lit bedroom. Yon murmurs, more to himself than her, “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s quite alluring.

“Do you have the mind to punish me, Commander?”

Yon is still frowning, “Oh, I have the mind, Vers.”

He turns around and sits on the edge of the bed. Vers hates that she can’t see his facial expression, but she can feel the exhaustion setting in from all the alcohol. Even then, the urge to reach out and touch him causes her fingers to tingle, but the possibility of rejection prevents her from acting on it. She’s shocked when he loops a hand around her calf so he can bend her knee. Her breath catches in her throat as he carefully removes her worn shoe. It flops to the ground with a careless thump. He reaches over her to do the other shoe.

Yon’s silence unnerves her. 

She whispers, “Are you mad?”

“Seething.”

A moment passes as her eyelids get heavier and she sinks between consciousness.

“Do you not want me because I am less than you?”

He makes a noise that she can’t translate, then he curses, “I think the marks on your body can attest to my want for you. Never disvalue yourself in my presence again.” Yon stands and she watches him walk to her bedroom door, “We will talk more when you are in a clearer state of mind. Rest well.”

-x-

Vers wakes up to the annoying sound of her alarm and hoarsely groans. More times than not, she is already awake and well into her day before her preset, sensor-based alarm goes off. The fact that she is still comfortably tangled in her sheets means that she has overslept and that she will most likely be late to her morning workout. Groggily, she walks to her bathroom by routine rather than actual mindfulness. Her head hurts and her mouth tastes weird and she’s having a hard time filling in the blanks. It isn’t until she is under the cold spray of the shower that the last day comes back to her. Vers mutters, “Fuck.”

Well, at least she woke up alone this time. She washes quickly and dries herself with a fresh towel before wrapping it around her form. Still minutely wet, she walks to the kitchenette and starts looking for something edible. The fact that her comm isn’t blinking red means that she is still in the clear, so she has some time. Vers bites her lip and settles on a bland protein bar.

She hears someone clear their throat from behind her, “I hardly think this is appropriate.” Vers instinctively whips around at the sound of an intruder. Yon-Rogg’s eyes widen as he takes her in—hair wet and not bothering to hide the healing love marks on her neck that extend down to her chest, just peeking over the thick seam of the towel. He fails to look like he’s not starving for her by the time he composes himself. It brings her a sense of pleasure, even though the bomb that Att-Lass dropped on her last night is circling her mind.

No one thinks she’s good enough for him.

“I thought you left,” Her shoulders rise and fall in unconcerned nonchalance. She peels the wrapper from her breakfast and starts eating it, not meeting his heated glare. Her eyes dance over the new, and completely uncharacteristic, wrinkles in his clothes and then she looks at her small couch. It seems he stayed the night.

He frowns when she does not retreat to her bedroom, “What are you doing?”

“Eating. Problem, Commander?”

“Vers.” 

She leans against the counter, a teasing gleam in her eyes, “I’m sorry. I meant _husband._ ”

“Go put some clothes on and then we can talk,” Yon instructs with resonant self-assurance, folding his arms over his chest and daring her to challenge his authority. Vers is aware that they need to talk about the consequences of being married and how that plays into their everyday lives. They need to talk about _so much,_ but she is not about to get herself into further trouble because he thinks he can boss her around. If he wanted to talk so damn bad, he should have called her last night when he was debriefing everyone. Plus, the day she starts blindly following his orders without rebuttal is the day it is safe to assume a Skrull has replaced her. 

Vers looks at him, uninspired, “I don’t have time to talk. I’ve got to get to my workout and then the firing range. I also have a lot of paperwork to fill out for the post-mission report.”

There is a faint smile on his lips when he addresses her, “Luckily, I am your Commanding officer. I think you will be fine.”

She playfully squints, finishing her unsatisfactory breakfast, “Isn’t that an abuse of power?”

“Possibly,” He exhales, seeming to enjoy the banter—it’s normal for them. Yon’s voice has its own teasing tint when he enunciates, “Go. Get. Dressed.”

Vers rolls her eyes but heads to her room to do as she’s told. As she lets the towel fall to the floor, her imagination entertains dangerous fantasies about Yon-Rogg joining her and throwing her on the bed again. She can hear him moving around her quarters. Distractedly, she wonders if he is doing a bunk inspection. She sucks in a deep breath, “Do you want to talk about our personal relationship, Starforce policy or your family first?”

Whatever he has in his hands, he drops on the kitchenette counter. Vers winces, hating the idea of having to clean up a mess because of her own ill-timing. A few seconds later, Yon coughs then regains his former poise, “Our union has been recognized by the Supreme Intelligence and will be made public knowledge this afternoon. We’re expected to move in together, and we are getting some _time off_ to adjust.”

“How long?” Vers asks as she pulls a random jumpsuit from her closet—a standard gray piece that aligns with regulation and does nothing for her figure. The idea of being away from Starforce when she just started going on missions doesn’t sit well with her. She is supposed to be contributing to the team and instead her reckless decisions have gotten them grounded. Vers hears her fridge open and she realizes that he is cooking. She is not much of a cook, but she does have basic ingredients for small dishes (all of which Yon taught her to cook for herself). Yon’s silence drags on. Vers repeats the question, not concealing her anxiety this time, “How long do we have off?”

“A few weeks.”

She wants to apologize but she does not know where to start.

“The team needs to adjust to the new dynamic. We need to make sure we can still function as a unit in the field,” Yon explains, focusing solely on the work aspect and almost pointedly not about the adjustments they need to make as individuals. He ends with, “It’s a reasonable amount of time, directly recommended by the Supremor.” Yon is mixing a thick pink paste in one of her Starforce-furnished bowls when she joins him in the living space. Vers waits for him to say more about what happened, but he is distracted by whatever concoction he is mixing. Her eyes follow him around the kitchen, taking in his self-sufficient presence and how naturally he glides around her space.

He has chopped up her imported Oawei berries that were nearing their expiration date and pulled out the only sweet spices she owns. Yon also found her stash of untouched Caemian oats that she was pestered to buy from a salesman weeks ago. Even though she has already eaten, her stomach growls in anticipation.

The idea of moving makes her chest hurt. Vers is not concerned about sharing a space with Yon, not after living together during missions on the Helion. She is not worried about losing her independence because that concept is a frontage when all her time is spent working out, completing shooting drills, and perfecting her comedy routines in the presence of her teammates. She is never truly alone, and if she is, it’s never for long. The only thing she can attribute to the sudden tightness in her throat is the fact that she is comfortable in basic military housing. From the beginning, the rules and the routine have soothed her. The environment always struck her as familiar. Besides Yon, it has been her only pardon from complete madness of starting over. Nervously, she asks, “Will we still live in this building?”

Yon’s attention parts from his masterwork so he can judge the hesitance in her voice, “Do you want to live in this building? We have options.”

Vers is not sure if his options are an extension of his rank or a perk of his surname. Even though it shouldn’t, getting special treatment based on his achievements or his status bothers her. She knows that it is to be expected considering who he is and everything that he has accomplished for the Kree Empire, but it is not something that she has come to terms with, yet. Knowing that he would use his privilege to make her comfortable makes her feel guilty, so she says, “I’m fine with whatever you choose.”

Yon resumes cooking and she tries not to look at his hands and imagine them doing other, far more interesting and skillful things. Focusing on moving, instead, she considers the prospect of packing for a moment. Vers estimates that everything she genuinely owns, and that was not furnished by Starforce, could fit in two boxes with plenty of space leftover. 

He pours the oats in the pot of water he previously placed on the stove with ease. Her mind replays the first time he tried to teach her to cook and how she was eager to test out her new gifts that she accidentally set the entire meal on fire. Yon had momentarily freaked out then subsided back to his level-headed demeanor and even helped her clean up the mess. That was also the first night that she tried some authentic Kree dishes from the small restaurant next door to their housing unit. Unaware of her trip down memory lane, Yon turns around and softly praises her, “You are handling this well.”

She looks around the room to make a point, “I’m not attached to this place.”

Yon gently explains, “I meant being married.”

Her first reaction is to snort because she could not agree less with his assessment. Didn’t she make a complete fool out of herself last night? She reminds him with a sly smirk, “I almost passed out on the floor last night. I could be handling it better.”

Yon lets out a breath close to a chuckle, “I didn’t say that there wasn’t room for improvement.”

The cramped kitchenette is littered with wrappings and stems from the berries. Vers bites the inside of her cheek so she doesn’t make a comment about him messing up her space, only because she doesn’t want him to take it to heart and leave. She sits down on one of the plain black stools that serve as her “kitchen chairs” and watches him expectantly. His dexterous motions lie to her, promising that this is an uncomplicated discussion and that he is in complete control. Yon-Rogg is a man of many masks. Her mouth twists, “How are you handling it?”

He doesn’t answer her at first. Vers imagines that he is trying to find a way to tell her that this isn’t something he particularly wants, or likes, without hurting her overabundant feelings. Yon is always condemning her for leaning into petty things like anger and fear. Even now, if he answers in the way that she suspects he will, she will be hurt, and she won’t be able to hide it. Yon busies himself but she can see the frown forming on his lips, “There’s not a simple answer to that question. As a leader, I have failed. I compromised myself and could have ruined our chances of securing an alliance with the Seduiterans. I succumbed to…many things. I may not remember most of the events that led up to this arrangement, but I know I was not acting as a high-ranking member of Starforce.”

Vers offers him a form of peace, relieving him of his qualms in the same manner that he routinely uses with her, “The Supreme Intelligence has accepted it and our mission _was_ successful. The Seduiterans wouldn’t have made the deal with us otherwise. Your _instinct_ proved to be admirable.”

“That’s the reason we have not faced harsher punishment,” Yon answers, mildly flustered by her regurgitated indifference, “And carefully crafted statements won’t excuse my missteps. We both know I did not act on instinct.”

Self-consciously, she counters, “Do you view being married to me as a punishment?”

“No.”

His reply is hard, unyielding—an incomplete confession handed to her with outright certainty. Yon faces away from her, returning to the softening oats. Vers noticeably relaxes with the confirmation that he does not consider their marriage a prison sentence, or penance for crossing prohibited lines. Her fingers pick at her jumpsuit as she debates broaching the topic that is really on her mind because it will shift the flow of their discussion away from the status of their personal relationship. She decides not to be a coward, mainly because if she is going to allow herself to be vulnerable, she wants all the facts first. Vers releases a dissatisfied half-moan, half-sigh, “I want to talk about the real problem, then.”

“And that is?”

“Coy is not your expertise, Commander. You know what.”

Yon removes the oats from the stovetop and returns to the fruit, most likely grateful that he can focus on something other than her curious eyes, “My family is complex.”

While he is being elusive, Vers can read between the lines after years of deciphering his complex language. For starters, Att-Lass was right about his family and their views. Logically, this does not come as a surprise because Att-Lass is not one to stir up unnecessary drama or pain. The House of Rogg would never see her as a worthy spouse for their son because of her blank background. It doesn’t help that their arrangement was so sudden, either. Vers imagines that the leaders of Starforce are blissfully unaware of all the smutty details of their night on Seduitera, so they would be spared that humiliation. Regardless, his son married a low-class subordinate without their consultation or approval. Vers assumes the Supreme Intelligence’s acceptance will help but she can’t be sure. In the back of her mind, she wonders if they would prefer Minn-Erva over her. At least she has a family, a real last name. As much as it bothers her to think about being disliked or ill-treated over aspects that she can’t control, her main worry is that Yon-Rogg has similar leanings as his parents. She toys with her fingers, her voice smaller than she has ever heard before, “And are you equally complex?”

“I like to believe that I am wholly complex in far different ways,” Yon attempts to joke but it falls flat.

Her mood is starting to turn sour because of the stress. Vers asks, “Have you told them?”

Yon’s hands perceptibly still as he mixes the paste and fruit together. He exhales, “No.”

She’s grateful that her voice does not contain the offense her heart feels when she speaks, “Why not?”

Yon’s tone changes and she can tell that her rapid-fire methods are starting to take a toll. Unfortunately, she is not sure if it is because he is ashamed of her or if he is ashamed of his family. Her universal translator does not seem to work when dealing with the body language of complicated men. He attempts to steady himself by taking in a deep breath and once again, she is reminded of another lesson he taught her: the art of meditation. His words are clipped when he speaks despite his best efforts, “It’s complicated. They will find out when the news breaks.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. I _know._ It’s hard for me to explain this to you because I don’t…” He looks unnerved in a way she has not seen for some time. If she remembers correctly, it was the last time she got hurt on a mission. She hadn’t followed orders down to the wire and it had backfired. She wonders now if she had misinterpreted his expressions back then, finding them to be products of anger and disappointment. Yon puts aside the kitchen utensils and rests his hands on the counter. He is quiet when he finally speaks as if his words are shameful, “I don’t want you to look at me like you are right now.”

 _He cares how I view him;_ she interprets. 

_He cares._

Yon’s admission is appeasing but it does not settle the nagging in her gut. Vers leans closer to him, mimicking his movements. Her eyes fall to his lips for the briefest of seconds and then she pointedly asks, “What’s blood purity?”

Heat ignites in his eyes and he lowly growls, “Nothing you have to worry about. Your blood is pure.”

“Because it’s yours?”

“Yes,” Yon’s tone is only slightly arrogant when he responds, and normally it would amuse her. He has always responded well to the reminder that his blood flows through her veins, but she has never been able to figure out the context of his pride. Did he feel that he had cleansed her of her probable low status, or was he just behaving like a man? Right now, she wants to believe that it is the latter because the first option is too heartbreaking to consider. 

Her face distorts as she attempts to comprehend, deciding she still does not have enough information, “But, why does it matter?”

Yon pushes away from the counter, displeased that she is pressing the issue, and returns to the completion of their meal. Once thoroughly distracted, he answers her question, “It’s all an ancient prejudice, the belief that blue skin is a signifier of higher power. My father married my mother for a large amount of land and control on a planet locally named Gora. It had been part of her family since the original province was established, but her father parted with it in hopes that Xan-Rogg would overlook his daughter’s pink skin.” He does not look at her when he speaks but she can hear the sorrow in his words, “The House of Rogg desired status and overlooked my mother’s _condition_ with hopes that her children would turn out differently. I didn’t and the expectation has been that I would right the _natural_ balance of things or elevate the family name through marriage.”

Vers doubts she will ever like her in-laws if they harvest such backward, disgusting ideals _and she so desperately wanted to impress._ The knowledge that Yon grew up in a home that faulted him for his skin makes her want to lash out irrationally. Deep inside, the act of marriage being used as a way to gain leverage feels wrong although she knows that it is not abnormal. They were married under the premise of trade, she does not have much room to judge. Vers huffs, “I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous.”

His face softens, proving to be sympathetic, “I agree, and not just because of my personal experiences, but because it is a preposterous and scientifically incorrect belief. My family only cares about its reputation and legacy. At the end of the day, it is all they have no matter how vain. Our marriage is a threat to those rigid values, especially since they will find so little information about you. I wish it were different, but outsiders are rarely accepted. This won’t be easy for you.”

“Would you prefer to be with someone—”

Many Kree like to pretend that emotion is not something that comes organically. Vers knows that this is a well-laid façade because she feels so frequently. She becomes angry in the face of injustice, sad in the face of the unknown. On bad days, she grieves for a life that she can’t remember—the absence of friends, family, and love. On good days, the days when she achieves phenomenal scores or gains high praise, she welcomes elation and dances around her quarters in her underwear. Her behavior is a product of not remembering when passion was schooled out of her.

Yon-Rogg, being a fast learner, has been taught otherwise. He will most likely never be soft with love, or the type of man that expresses himself through long-winded lyrics and musings. No, his feelings are shown through actions—training with her until exhaustion weakens her nightmares, defending her when she screws up (time and time again), making her the best version of herself. So, when Yon says, “Don’t. I wouldn’t. You need to eat,” she knows that his heart is in the same orbit as hers.

He sets a filled bowl in front of her but does not join her side, decidedly standing to eat. The completed dish looks extremely appetizing after consuming ration packs during their time on Seduitera. Yon’s shoulders relax as she grabs her spoon and digs in. A satisfied moan slips through her lips at the first bite and she reservedly thinks that blatantly racist in-laws might be a small price to pay for a fulfilling, delicious diet. Unwilling to cease her interrogation, she renews their conversation, “Att-Lass mentioned a ceremony.”

“We won’t be participating,” Yon says curtly between bites.

“Why not?”

Yon’s response is terse, “It’s dated.”

She adds pressure, “But your family would expect one, yes?”

“Yes.”

Vers sighs, putting down her spoon so she can effectively glare at him, “I want to make this easier on you, Yon. Let me help.”

He places his bowl on the counter with a defining clank. She can see the twitch in his hand, his need to be doing something else rather than exposing his mental weaknesses to her. His control is lapsing, and it is making him prickly. Despite her assessment, Yon’s tone is surprisingly faint when he addresses her, “I don’t want you to do it.”

The problem is that she feels indebted to Yon after all that he has done for her. Her emotions are screwing with her own sense of self-preservation. Really, the last thing she wants to do is participate in some weird ceremony at the mercy of Yon’s parents. It all comes down to the fact that he would do it for her if their roles were reversed. Vers endures, “Att-Lass says each family has their own traditions. Do you think I should deny your family that right when I already have points against me?”

“Att-Lass has a big mouth.”

“Come on,” She begs, “Just tell me.”

Yon rubs a strong hand over his face apprehensively, “The House of Rogg believes in branding, Vers. I won’t do that to you.”

His confession should surprise her, but she expected way more insidious subjects than the possibility of being branded. Vers finds it odd that Yon would even care considering she’s already baring a permanent mark from their union. She holds up her hand, subtly flashing the mark in his direction, “I thought we already did.”

“A mating mark carries an entirely different meaning,” He says dismissively but she catches him looking down at his hand thoughtfully, “It’s purer, while the Rogg brand symbolizes that you are ruined for others and owned by me—that no one else will ever take you because you belong to the House of Rogg.”

Vers doesn’t know how to respond, so she just says, “Oh.”

“Most Kree marriages lack familiarity or care. Please, understand that. Arranged marriages are about political and personal gains. I won’t brand you to assert my power in this union.” His words are laced with finality that she is not prepared to challenge. Yon decides to regain control by saying, “Now, you asked about our personal relationship, yes?”

Vers does not want to stop talking about his family or their expectations. Att-Lass hinted at way more than a brand and she will not be satisfied until she has the full picture but her head is starting to hurt with the influx of information she needs to comprehend. Against her better judgments, she concedes, finding it odd that the easier conversation is establishing their feelings towards one another, “We’re attracted to each other.”

“I concur,” Yon says as if they are going over a mission report.

“We’re married,” She adds, ticking off another fact.

He laughs, “You are simply stating the obvious, Vers. Get to the point.”

“You’re my best friend. My only friend. I care about you, and now we have opened up this other door unintentionally and I would like to see where it goes,” Vers words are incredibly rushed as she tries to get everything off her chest in the least humiliating way as possible, “But only if you want to see where it goes, too.”

Yon smirks, looking far less anxious, “Are you suggesting that I court you?”

“Maybe I’ll court you,” Vers returns his smile with ease and resumes eating, “I might be better at it than you.”


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s official,” Att-Lass calls from the other side of the practice mat as he scrolls through the contents of his datapad with an intense expression. Vers only spares him a quick glance, but even in brevity, she can tell that he is still breathing hard and that his training clothes are drenched in sweat after the thorough ass-kicking she gave him. She’s in the middle of an exercise with Bron-Char and _losing_ despite her exceptional hand-to-hand combat record (minus her frequent failed fights with the Commander, but she does not include those). Her poor strategy is a product of her inability to focus on anything other than Yon-Rogg.

She swiftly learned that the concept of _time off_ is not as luxurious as it sounds for her new husband. After cleaning the kitchen, Yon informed her that his availability would be scarce for the rest of the day due to meetings with notable personnel, a strategic planning keynote and a brief educational lesson with the youth of Hala. Vers was slightly disappointed with the development, having harbored a hope that they would eventually fall into bed and rejog the ol’ memory on the happenings in Seduitera. Outwardly, she took it all with great stride and told him that she planned to relax. Which, okay, being repeatedly hit by a man twice her size has been a little cathartic, but she imagines that’s not the image Yon-Rogg had in his head when he left her to her own devices.

Vers dodges a particularly powerful punch that was aimed at her head before she acknowledges Att-Lass’s announcement, “Did you finally figure out that I’m better than you?” Bron-Char groans frustratedly as he misses her, and she smirks with the satisfaction. She ducks under his arm when he tries to rush her on impulse. She hums, “Anger only serves the enemy,” in a mocking tone as he falls to his knees. They have been sparring for hours in the dormitory gym and it is starting to take a toll on everyone.

Bron-Char rises quickly, preparing to strike again and Vers smiles as he ignores her flippant second-hand advice. Att-Lass peers at her from over the datapad, “I’d be an apex fighter, too, if I was getting private lessons but that’s not what I’m referring to—you are publicly Vers-Rogg. The notice was just broadcasted.”

Vers can’t even take a full breath to process before she is flying across the matt and into a rack of weights. Her body stays motionless for a few seconds before she regains her bearings. Bron-Char looks utterly terrified when she pushes herself up on her elbows, “Vers, damn, I’m sorry!” She can feel the split in her lip and the blood in her mouth. He offers her a hand, but she brushes him off, content with finding solid ground on her own.

Her voice is hoarse when she directs her attention to Att-Lass as she collects herself, “Let me read the report.”

He hands over his datapad when she approaches him, slightly limping from the impact. Vers is only comforted by the knowledge that she will heal quickly. Her eyes scan over the listed content and it’s expectantly precise and limited. The Starforce issued report explains that the pair were married to better the empire in Seduitera without offering much about the mission itself or the geopolitical gains associated with their marriage. Although, it does say that the Supreme Intelligence blessed the union (yet, fails to mention the blessing was after the fact). The public notice does not share anything other than a call-to-action for the community, asking them to congratulate the newlyweds and some informational padding. Yon-Rogg’s achievements are highlighted as a reminder to all Kree what infallible servitude looks like and once again, the Supreme Intelligence’s blessing is mentioned. Other than being his bride, she’s hardly acknowledged. 

Att-Lass comments in a sarcastic tone, “Expertly crafted.”

She snorts and hands back the pad, “Yeah, almost makes it sound like it was intentional.”

His brow furrows as he rereads the notices, “Well…in a way, wasn’t it? You could have married anyone on that planet, but you married each other.”

Bron-Char chips in, “Fair point.”

Their united knowingly looks unnerve her so she decides to change the subject. Vers hardly feels comfortable sharing her feelings with Yon-Rogg, let alone her teammates. It’s one thing to discuss the subject of her politically motivated marriage with other members of Starforce, it’s another to share the status of her romantic life with them. Even she knows that romance is still considered weakness, even amongst friends. She rolls her eyes, and says, “Are we done for the day?”

Her question is left unanswered as she leaves the gym, unable to socialize because of her growing emotional state. Vers wants to push it all down, or turn it all off, but that’s not how she operates. Her mind _can’t do it_ no matter how badly she wants it to, and she blames the Skrulls for making her into something weak. They stole her peace from her and every night as she sleeps, she tries to find it again only to wake up to the real nightmare: obscurity.

She can’t remember her mother’s smile or if she even liked the woman. She can’t remember any words of wisdom from her father, or if she was a disappointment to him. Did she have siblings? Had she forgotten their names, too? Is it possible that she has forgotten every single day she spent under the weight of childlike laughter and frivolity or had they never even existed? Right now, she’s wondering if her parents would consider her recent marriage a negative or a positive. Vers doesn’t even know if they appreciated the efforts of Starforce. Mainly, she wants to know if she’s letting them down or disgracing any unknown family traditions by proceeding this way.

The elevator ride back to her quarters is a blur easily forgotten as her dreary train of thought takes priority. Her mood is low as she walks through the little apartment, taking a visual inventory of everything that she has to her name again. If she had an inkling about where, or when, they were moving, she would start packing but it seems incredibly rushed. Of course, that’s an expected side effect of jumping into a marriage without hashing out the important details first.

She exhales loudly, deciding to take a shower to wash off all the blood and sweat—or really, just do anything other than be depressed about what she’s missing.

-x-

_Yon-Rogg_

Starforce buildings are universally bland outside of the surplus politically motivated messages skittering across digital screens. The electronic posters encourage members to stay sharp and protect the empire from the repulsive Skrull threat. Yon-Rogg has never needed motivation. As a child, he was enamored by the duty and glory of serving Starforce. He consumed everything in the media and started to train against his parent’s explicit wishes until he was able to legally join as a cadet. The House of Rogg has been a notable family for many centuries because of their stakes in real estate and trade. Most of their properties rest on border planets and provinces, serving as delicacies to the wealthy and debauched. He didn’t want to be a member of their pleasure-seeking world, even at a young age. The Supreme Intelligence may turn a blind eye to the aristocracy that dilutes their society, but he did not want to be part of it. He would always be considered an outsider because of his _unfortunate_ genetics. Yon-Rogg forged a new life for himself based on skill, ambition, and distinguished accomplishments. The propaganda means nothing to him when he can look in the mirror and get the same rush.

The first meeting on his schedule is mind-numbing at best, and one he would rather not have to attend. Although it comes with the territory, he is still surprised by the amount of time his peers spend talking about themselves and their achievements. He’s typically spared from their unsophisticated boastfulness because of his unit’s missions, but he imagines he is being punished for his recent actions on Seduitera. General Ga-Len has been steering the conversation towards his time on a peaceful border planet for some time now and the others have finally given in to his unsubtle pushing. Yon-Rogg puts on his faux-attentive mask and shifts focus to his favorite vice: Vers.

From the moment he met her on that highly underdeveloped planet, he was taken by her. Perhaps he even hesitated to kill her due to his appreciation. She just found out that the world wasn’t what she imagined it to be, yet she stood in front of him and _fought_ with everything she had. Vers was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to save lives and despite being on the wrong side, he expected her ambition. Her selflessness charmed him, no matter how inconvenient it was for his mission. Yon-Rogg knows that he would have ended her life, that it wouldn’t have been personal if she hadn’t of made the first move. Of course, he’s also aware he had the opportunity to execute her after the blast. As lead, he convinced Minn-Erva that his mercy was a strategic move that would benefit the empire, but time has proven his predilections lean towards a different motive.

Right now, he can’t get the image of her standing underneath Seduitera’s red sun out of his head.

The mission was handed down through the ranks, but he accepted the assignment without complaints. Unlike some, he takes pride in bettering the empire despite how tedious the task. Seduiteran crystals are the subject of a science experiment that might change the face of war. The empire acquired them through back-channel trading and sought out the source. The Kree are persuasive people and after communing with the Supreme Intelligence about the details of the mission, he knew that failure was not an option. His unit was not pleased with the mission because it lacked a certain flair—no adrenaline, no blood, no glory. Minn-Erva and Korath were displeased, but willing to follow orders and study up on the natives. Att-Lass and Bron-Char are great warriors but easily distracted, as proven by Vers presence on the team. Yon-Rogg assigned them ship duty and just as he was about to sentence Vers to the same boring fate (it would have been protection for all involved), he saw her tilt her face upwards towards the heat. The sun touched her golden hair and highlighted her lovely features in a way that fascinated him.

Even now, he knows that he abandoned logic, but he wanted to consume more of her reactions to the planet—the vibrant flora, the deep violet sands, and the tell-tale signs of paradise. Vers did not disappoint, either. He compromised himself way before they accepted any drinks from the Seduiterans by humoring his feelings for her. Warriors rarely pay attention to pure beauty because it’s considered a distraction, but he let himself fall into a man’s trap.

Yon-Rogg is pulled from his thoughts by the General’s deep voice, “Commander, I wanted to take this chance to highlight the sacrifice you have made for the sake of all Kree.” The rest of the officials seem to share the Ga-Len’s sentiment because they nod along with his words—bleak faces emphasized by thin smiles. They are offering ingenuine expressions of high esteem. He doesn’t care much for Ga-Len because of his known prejudices. Most of his compliments are underhanded and tinged with the implication that his success is respectable, especially for a non-blue Kree. He is aware that they consider his recent marriage a sacrifice for the House of Rogg. Even in the supposed sanctity of Starforce, his family’s name means something.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Yon cocks his head to the side, feigning confusion so Ga-Len has to elaborate. Vers does it often when he gives her a basic order that she does not want to follow. He will never admit that he picked it up from her, though.

The General flushes a slight shade of purple, but his tone is indignant as if his previous insinuation was apparent, “Your marriage to _that_ woman. Vers, is it?”

He smiles politely, realizing that he will not achieve anything by starting an argument, “Vers is an extraordinary warrior. The Supreme Intelligence blessed our union. Thank you for your recognition, General.”

Yon-Rogg does not know why the Supreme Intelligence showed him mercy—this being his second strike and all. He thought he was going to be reassigned to a lowly position, or possibly killed for his insubordination. Instead, he watched a distorted reflection of himself laugh maniacally. It laughed at his weakness, his feelings, his shame. It reminded him that he was pathetic, less than the others and less than her. He accepted the Supremor’s criticism in silence believing It to be correct. Yon-Rogg asked for an annulment with Vers’s future in mind. She’s younger than him, better than him, with buckets of untapped potential and she deserves more than an accidental marriage and the weight of his family on her shoulders. The Supreme Intelligence favors Vers as a pet-project, which offers its own protection. 

To his surprise, the Supremor denied his request, stating, _“Despite your idiocy, you have done well. Luck seems to be on your side, Commander. Vers struggles with her past. An emotional connection to someone might ease her doubt. She cares for you. You clearly love her—it seems Seduitera was a catalyst. We will be able to control her once she has let go of what she can’t remember. You will remain married, and if you fail again, we will act._

There’s been a bad taste in his mouth ever since.

Ga-Len purses his lips and dismisses everyone from the conference room, eyes hesitating on the Commander. Yon-Rogg looks down at his datapad indifferently and notices the recent series of messages that have distributed across the empire. He understands the General’s sudden shift in conversation as he scans the notices for any sign of scandalous activity (even though only his unit knows what really happened). He leaves the conference room and walks towards his small, almost empty office. He receives many fumbled congratulations and awkward nods from cadets and other members of Starforce. He rarely spends time in his office, but it is protocol for him to have a space to do administrative work while planet-side and he’s not terribly upset about it at the moment.

The silence brings him comfort and allows him time to cool off after Ga-Len’s reckless remarks. If he is being honest, Vers has been a negative influence on his emotional detachment. Yon-Rogg entertains the concept of being self-aware enough to recognize that Kree are infamous liars. They aren’t void of emotion when they’re children; they’re not natural warriors. He distinctly remembers feeling the sting of rejection, the burn of anger, and unjust pain in his youth. Living during a time of war molds soldiers, though. Yon was taught how to suppress emotion until the day it became his first instinct. Vers isn’t like him. Her naïve outlook on the world is exceptionally alluring and most days, he finds himself leaning into it and consuming her innocence if only for a brief time. The Supreme Intelligence believes that he is pathetic because of inclinations but he politely disagrees with Its assessment.

He fights harder having known her because she is peace.

Yon-Rogg taps his fingers on the plain black desk in front of him as he contemplates opening the link between their comms. It’s an urge that he won’t amuse because it plays towards his vulnerability and vices. As much as he feels, he can’t afford to put himself at her feet just yet. He pauses his ministrations when his eyes catch the fresh black tattoo etched into his skin. He smiles fondly, but his whimsical mood is interrupted by urgent beeping. 

An inattentive glance tells him that it’s his private line, more so that his father is being persistent about reaching him. Yon groans loudly, much like a child before he summons the will to answer. He flips open his hand and within seconds of accepting the call, his father’s holographic figure is in his palm. His golden eyes shine with contempt as he gruffly says, “I’m working.”

“Yes, and what commendable work you have done, _Commander,_ ” Xan-Rogg says his son’s title with unceasing sarcasm, but that’s part of his charm. The eldest patriarch of the House of Rogg has little tolerance for his youngest son’s lifestyle because he has continuously defied expectations. Many wealthy heirs do their time on Hala to satisfy the law, but they rarely become anyone significant before retiring. His parents thought he would get Starforce out of his system and settle down according to their needs soon after. It doesn’t help that his brother has not produced any male children, yet. There’s been more pressure than usual to fall in line. Per usual, Yon has found a way to equally disappoint and disobey his father’s wishes.

Yon tries to school his expression, but even then, he finds himself speaking through clenched teeth, “You have read the report, then.”

“Did you not think we deserved more?” He has witnessed a lifetime of Xan-Rogg’s overactive fury after being a complete disenchantment to the House of Rogg. He recognizes the crease in his father’s brow as a soft tick, but the thinning of his nose as a sign that he’s heavily irritated. Xan-Rogg tries to throw a cheap hit but Yon is used to his unfair verbal sparring, “Your mother is in tears!”

 _Doubtful,_ he thinks dryly.

Yon quickly references his negotiation training—with his own added twist. He offers a false smile and serenely asks, “What would you like me to say?”

Xan-Rogg tries his best to look menacing as a five-inch figure but it’s not effective. Clearly, Yon’s conversation methods are thoroughly pissing him off. His father tries to compose himself with a harsh breath, “That you have not brought shame into this family.”

Yon’s response is laced with rebellious arrogance and comes out as a quick retort, “I have not brought shame into this family.”

If his father only knew the pure power that Vers held and the significant impact she would have on the entirety of Kree civilization, he would bite his disgraceful tongue. Vers is not concerned with being an influencer or a member of his parent’s world. She does not care about fashion trends or the newest imports (unless it’s weaponry). Xan-Rogg is not worthy of the air that she breathes, let alone to share the same last name as her. Yon does not share his inner thoughts because they contain classified information, but one day his father will see.

“I gave you time to play soldier, boy. It’s been beneficial for our image, but I will not allow—” Xan-Rogg’s outburst isn’t out of the ordinary but not one that he’s willing to endure after his recent realizations. He fights the urge to scold his father about his self-control as if he is a member of his team, recognizing that it would not go over well.

“This is not something you can overrule, _father._ It’s been blessed by the Supreme Intelligence, recognized by our allies, and announced to the public. Any further conversation is redundant.” Yon’s voice is eerily calm, but every declaration has the velocity of a well-laid blow behind it. Rhetoric is just another version of combat and he is not bested often, discounting his unpredictable mate.

Xan-Rogg reveals his winning cards far too soon, “There hasn’t been a ceremony, yet.”

“There won’t be.”

His father hums appreciatively, apparently pleased with the knowledge that his son does not want to complete their most sacred family tradition with an outsider. Yon-Rogg missteps because of the rage welling in his chest, “Understand that it is not because I consider her unworthy of our brand, but because I consider myself unworthy of branding her.” The archaic side of him wants her to accept his brand and wear it with pride. He’s worried that it’s obvious to the world by the mere possessiveness and protectiveness in his voice. Yon refuses to partake in the tradition because it has been tainted by deals, prejudice, hate, and power. During the time of inception, the brand symbolized protection and loyalty amongst members of their family. Overall, the ceremony itself isn’t meant to be crude or evil. Like most things, greed has ruined it. 

Xan-Rogg scoffs and begins pacing in Yon’s palm, “You’re a fool.”

“Maybe I am,” Yon-Rogg wickedly retorts with a charming smirk.

His father is not pleased with his attitude. Xan-Rogg begins yelling to assist his argument, pausing his pacing, “I won’t allow you to besmirch tradition because your bastardization of our culture. You will have a ceremony, or we will not accept this marriage. That’s final!”

Yon nods respectfully, “We don’t require your acceptance.”

Before his father can formulate a response, he closes his fist and disconnects the transmission.

His comms start beeping again and this time the name _Fai-Rogg_ flashes across the bar. Yon-Rogg takes a deep breath and checks the time before he answers his mother’s call. It’s harder to speak to her than his father. Xan-Rogg is a predictable old man with unrealistic and self-satisfying expectations for his family. His first reaction is anger and Yon can deal with it. They would fight and then within a week or two, his father would call again and pretend nothing happened. His mother is far better at manipulation than she lets on. Fai-Rogg utilizes even-tempered responses to get what she wants much like a well-trained predator. 

“Mother,” Yon breathes, truly exhausted by the weight of recent events and the masks he’s been wearing. Plus, he didn’t sleep well last night on his sloshed mate’s sad excuse for a couch. For once, he’s grateful that his mother is not using the holographic feature. The day is still young, and she most likely has not prepared herself for viewing. Fai-Rogg is a woman of fine tastes and exquisite holdings and likes to look like ornate art to the public. He typically prefers to see her facial features because he can translate her hewn hits better.

“Mind your tone,” Fai’s tone assumes the form of an elite warrior. She would have been an asset to Starforce if her family hadn’t of mapped her entire life out—prestigious courting, a noteworthy marriage, and high-status children. Despite his distaste for his maternal grandparent’s decisions, he has always wondered if his mother has regrets. He’s not naïve enough to believe that his parents are in love, although he assumes, they care for each other in the way good friends do after years of obligatory co-habitation. No matter the circumstances, she could have had better. Fai delivers another blow by firmly stating, “I want to meet her.”

A lesser man would fall victim to her ruse, but he has years of familiarity on his side. Fai-Rogg wants to unsettle him with the image of her meeting his wild, untamed bride. The notion is quite nerve-inducing, but he does not trip over himself like a pushover. Yon smugly says, “I won’t have a ceremony.”

Fai-Rogg audibly sighs as she accepts first-round defeat, but it is filled with worrying resilience, “Does she understand the importance?”

“No, she doesn’t, which is why she would do it if she thought it would make things easier.” He takes pleasure in his visual freedom because if she could see him, she would know how truly screwed her son is right now. Vers wants to please him even though it goes against her authority intolerant attitude. Most days, it’s an intoxicating aspect about her that he has always wanted to explore but in this situation, he fears how far she would go to belong. Or maybe, he’s afraid that he will get too attached and won’t be able to let her go once it’s time for her to serve the Supreme Intelligence fully. And maybe, a small part of him fears that the Supremor’s ultimate punishment is to give and then to take.

His mother’s tone softens in the way it did when he was a small child, “I need you to listen to me.”  
  
Yon has a previously unacquainted burning in his chest when he murmurs, “I _really_ need to go.”

Fai-Rogg speaks slowly, much like he does when he is trying to talk natives off the ledge in times of battle, “Listen. I was young when I was promised to your father and at first, I did not understand it either. I was an outsider in my own class, treated differently because of my genetics—our genetics. The House of Rogg gave me purpose. At first, it may seem terrifying, even to you. The blood, the brand, the belief…but over the years, it has brought me immense comfort. I know that I am valuable, and I know that I am wanted.”

Yon does not tell his mother that he has already opened a vein to Vers because Fai-Rogg’s persistence would know no bounds. Before the times of the Supreme Intelligence, millennia of Kree believed that blood-sharing between mates signified an unending and fully encompassing bond. Now viewed as mockable myths, the blood bond was considered the greatest form of magic. He doesn’t believe in it. No one does in their world of loveless, political marriages. Those stories are meant for hopeless lovers and disregarded by the wise and jaded. For whatever reason, his family has chosen to buy into the fantasy of it all without the feelings. If he wasn’t certain that his mother would see through his excuses and unjustifiable reasoning, he would cop to it, but he’s not _that_ good.

Yon tries to take a different route but it’s still weak, “She’s strong. Stronger than anyone I have ever met.”

Fai-Rogg flaunts her conversational victory by humming, “I want to speak with her. Bring her to dinner tomorrow, or we come to you.”

“I’ll try,” He says dejectedly and feels the beginnings of a headache in the back of his skull.

Pleased with herself, his mother almost laughs, “And I will try to keep your father in line.”

Fai-Rogg ends the call.

“Fuck.”

He looks at the time, exhales, and resets so he can attend the next appointment on the books. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to work on the logistics before getting into the hot and steamy parts BUT I do promise a *hopefully* swoon-worthy scene in the next chapter. 
> 
> Until then, how do you feel about everything? What has been your favorite part?


	5. Chapter 5

5

_Yon-Rogg_

Yon-Rogg can hear Vers’s unsubtle curses and the sound of her slamming cabinets shut in a flurry even with the thick door separating him from her quarters. He didn’t intend to pause before knocking or making his presence known, but something about her light-hearted irritation caught him off guard. Yon is so easily taken by her expressiveness that it could be mistaken for weakness. He wonders if he will spend the rest of his days like this—carrying a bag of her favorite A’askavarian takeout food, about to walk into a mild warzone without care, lovesick and tortured. Oddly, it sounds like paradise. 

He knocks on her door although it is an unnecessary measure considering he has the entry code memorized. Vers sends a particularly nasty curse into the void and he has to stop himself from grinning like a fool. She answers the door without checking who is outside, something he has repeatedly warned her against despite living in Starforce housing. If a small growl escapes his lips at the sight of her, it’s because she refuses to follow proper dress protocol and _absolutely not_ because he’s weakened by her standard form of tempting torment. He finds it endearing, if not infuriating, how her fingers toy with the ends of her entirely too thin shorts to maneuver the rising fabric down her athletic legs to add length. It’s not the first time he’s found her like this, skimpy shorts and a sports bra, and last time he made sure to give her an earful.

He never mentioned that his insistence was to soothe his desire and keep his jealousy at bay. Yon takes a step closer to her, just so she’ll move backwards into her quarters. At first, the stubborn little minx doesn’t budge. He lowly says, “I don’t want to share you with the world, love. Get your delectable ass back inside.” Yon’s wanted to say a variation of those words for some time now and he’s pleased with the effect they have on Vers. He’ll be damned if any unworthy, horny cadet gets a glimpse of her exquisite skin, especially when it’s layered with such an alluring lilac flush. Yon would rather be sent to the Collective than let someone else ogle her in this state.

Further into the light of her quarters, he catalogs the fresh bruises on her exposed skin and the healing busted lip she is sporting. Yon has seen her in worse shape, but he hadn’t left her this way and that unsettles him. Clearly, the picture of relaxation that she painted this morning had been corrupted by other activities. As much as he wants to ask, he bites back the questions sitting firmly on his tongue in favor of not revealing his inability to suppress his emotions. It would be a poor example to set on his part.

Vers runs a nervous hand through her unkempt hair then smiles in recognition when she spots the carryout bag, “Is that what I think it is, Commander?” Her tone is flirtatious as she takes a step forward, stealing the food out of his grasp with a cheeky grin. He’ll probably be punished by the Supreme Intelligence for the satisfaction he finds in the way she purrs his title, but he’s willing to risk it for now. Vers walks to the kitchenette, a rare swing in her step that he’s positive she’s doing on purpose. She starts removing stark white containers from the bag, throat vibrating in appreciation as she surveys her bounty.

He’s trying to soften the blow of dinner with his parents tomorrow night by treating her to all her favorites. Well, that’s partially the reason. Yon also wants to mark the occasion with something personal. Over the last few years, A’askavarian food has been their way of recognizing significant wins although the tradition was not created on purpose. Vers is a picky eater due to her background—something he doesn’t like to think of but otherwise must accept when describing her quirks. A’askavarian (with a Kree twist) is one of the only things she genuinely enjoys outside of bland dishes, or what he cooks for her. Unfortunately, it’s pricey due to the imported ingredients and the closest restaurant is out of the way of their standard routines. He would love to do it more, but their schedules don’t often permit it.

He just wants to make her happy.

Yon makes his way to the kitchenette, removing his hoodie and laying it across the stool he frequents. Vers is still reading the labels on the containers when he moves behind her. If he tries hard enough, he can remember the way her skin tasted that night on Seduitera. He takes a step closer, just to feel the heat radiating from her skin. Vers leans back, seemingly wanting to be close to him as well if her sigh is any indication. She shivers against him when he whispers, “I thought we should celebrate our way. Just me and you.”

Her voice is low when she breathes, “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you’re not a romantic.”

Yon leans into his newfound impulsive streak, framing her hips with his hands, “I feel that my wife’s praise is the only commendation that matters.” He’s not supposed to say such things out loud, but her presence always makes him feel a little rebellious. Vers presses her body against his and he feels his grip on reality slipping.

Yon places a kiss on her shoulder and Vers giggles nervously in response, “Are you trying to best me in this whole courting thing?”

He smiles against her skin because he’s not used to this side of her, “Possibly.”

Vers mumbles, “You’re surprisingly good at it.”

He challenges her, “Already admitting defeat?”

And she doesn’t back down, “Never.”

Yon presses his full weight against her until her hands precariously rest on the counter. The position does wonders for his imagination, but he knows that it’s not doing anything positive for his self-control. Vers jerks against him when he reaches over her head to grab two plates from the cabinets and he almost suggests skipping dinner to ravage her, but he’s a gentleman and hungry. Through clenched teeth, he wills himself to say, “Let’s eat.”

Vers headily asks, “Are you sure?”

“I hear _courting_ takes up a lot of energy,” Yon presses a final kiss to her shoulder, just above the black strap of her bra, before stepping away from the temptress. Vers’s love for takeout food must beat out the desire pooling inside of her because she’s soon taking a seat at the counter, watching him expectantly. A slow smirk settles on his face as he regards her. Vers smiles in response, pleased with herself when he agrees to serve her. He asks, “What would you like to drink?”

“I’m good with water.”

He nods, satisfied that she’s not opting for something potently sweet. Yon moves around the small space with ease, aware that his every move is being watched. After he settles next to her, they begin to eat in fulfilled silence. He thinks about broaching the subject of his parents with her, but he doesn’t want to dampen her mood. There’s a lot to talk about—housing, financials, protocol, etc. He reasons that they have plenty of time to work out the finer details. Plus, his schedule for tomorrow isn’t as extensive. Just a quick shooting drill with the cadets (no live ammo). He hopes that she will stay in bed and not get into any trouble. Of course, today hadn’t gone to plan. He shifts his body towards her so he can properly look at her face, “What happened today?”

Vers pauses, fork lingering between her mouth and the partially empty plate, “What?”

He taps his own lip when she finally spares a look in his direction. She returns her attention to her meal, the image of nonchalance, “Oh, training.”

Yon tries to keep his voice steady, calm even, “With who?”

He doesn’t like the idea of her training with someone else. At first, he thought it was because he didn’t want anyone disrupting his hard work. Yon has put a lot of time into teaching her to be the best and the last thing she needs is some amateur altering her stances and corrupting her muscle memory with lazy, incomplete moves. He later realized his motivations weren’t entirely mentor related, but even then, he lacked the ability to tell her differently. Vers could throw anyone around on the practice matt and it wasn’t his place to tell her otherwise. Still, he hasn’t been reigning back his domineering personality for her to get _hurt_ in the process. Quite frankly, she rarely walks away with injuries when sparring with others outside of their daily sessions. Vers may be unbothered, but he’s incensed by the development.

“Bron-Char.” Vers exhales in a way that sounds like a laugh, but he doesn’t find it humorous. 

He narrows his eyes, thoroughly annoyed that one of his own would do this to her. Bron-Char is bulky and typically uses his size to fight. Although useful, it has far more disadvantages than strengths. Vers is aware of Bron-Char’s weaknesses and should have won. He looks over her once again, trying to map out what went wrong like a forensics expert. Her bruises are inconsistent with any complex moves. Yon furrows his brows in frustration, “You usually fair better.”

He watches her roll her eyes playfully, “I let Att-Lass distract me. Bron-Char took the opportunity.”

There’s a hardness in his voice that wasn’t evident a week ago when he says, “That’s dishonorable fighting.”

Vers puts down her fork and gives him her full attention by turning her body towards him. He can trace the confusion in her features. She hadn’t expected him to be so affected and she finds it odd. He almost thinks she’s about to ask him for his code, most likely fearing that he’s been simmed and replaced by an emotional Skrull. She tilts her chin downwards when she says, “You would do it.”

He places his hand on her cheek, finding her skin to be warm again. Vers meets his eyes and he struggles with his composure. There’s a lot that he would like to say but so much that he can’t because of tradition, because of his oaths, because of the Supreme Intelligence, because of who he is in this world. If he was someone different, Yon-Rogg would spill his starstruck thoughts into every available silence for the rest of their lives without hesitance. Maybe if he were a Terran male with freedom and faith, it wouldn’t have taken him five years to get to this moment. That’s the trouble with Vers; she makes him think dangerously. His voice is tight and there’s a line etched in his forehead when he finally says, “To teach you a lesson, not to win.”

Her temperature rises under his hand and the soft shade of lilac that she’s been wearing for some time deepens involuntarily. Vers rarely openly colors in the presence of others and he finds the new development enthralling, if not wholly arousing. She turns into his palm, hiding her face between his rough hand and her untidy hair. Her breath fans against his skin and his thoughts become muddled with the desire he’s been failing to keep at bay since she answered the door in that lascivious outfit. Tempted, he rasps, “You’re beautiful when you blush.”

Fundamentally, it’s a reminder that he’s part of her existence.

Vers pouts exasperatedly, “I underestimated you.”

Yon plays into her mock-annoyance, eyes glimmering with excitement and mischief, “I thought you would have learned by now that I strive for perfection in all categories.” Vers disregards her brief embarrassment and fixes him with a suggestive look, always so sure of herself and her desires. He doesn’t need a universal translator to gage the implication dancing in her eyes. Yon has enough sense and respect for tradition to know that he should pull away from her and settle for a different avenue. His internal struggle is a result of knowing what he would be missing. Although fuzzy, he can remember just enough to know that he can’t walk away right now. At the end of the day, he is only flesh. Yon stands, hovering over her small form and begins to lean down. Vers doesn’t back away and it makes him groan, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

In a rare moment of submission, she says, “Please.”

He imagines art has been created in honor of lesser embraces, and he envies those people. Vers kisses like she fights—full of emotion, with bite and passion. The only difference is that when he slides his tongue over her lips, she yields to him. He removes his hands from her face and finds purchase on the back of her knees. She releases a small squeak when he pulls her fully against him. He’s hard against her skin and she takes notice with enthusiasm. Vers breaks for a harsh breath and he starts trailing kisses down the column of her neck. She seems to enjoy the sensation because a low, needy hum escapes her mouth as she cranes her head to give him better access.

Yon’s hands run from the backs of her knee to her thighs, thumbs dipping below the fabric just so he can feel more of her.

“Please,” Vers murmurs brokenly as he marks her with his mouth.

He grins into her neck, “Do you want me to take you to bed?”

“Now.” Vers wraps her legs around his waist to prove her point and he’s once again captured by her sheer will and stubbornness. Her assumed dominance is cute considering the last time they played this game, she ended up walking away with a limp. He plans to remind her who is in charge in due time. Vers grips his shoulders when he unceremoniously lifts her from the stool, and he enjoys the pressure of her core against his erection. Each deliberate step leads him closer to irrationality and carnal bliss. She buries her face into the crook of his neck with a soft moan. It seems that he’s not the only one reaping benefits. Soft lips brush against his skin, then her tantalizing tongue.

Oh, he would love to play her little game but he’s not going to roll over for her tonight.

Vers releases a surprised laugh when he tosses her on the mattress like he did the night before, but she grows silent when he takes off his shirt. Lust swims in her darkened eyes as he stands before her. If she knew how lovely she looked under the glow of the capital she would understand his pause. Yon knows that he should secure her windows to eliminate the possibility of voyeurs, but he _needs_ to see her tonight. Impatient as ever, Vers pointedly whines, “What are you waiting for?”

Amusement colors his face, “Have you forgotten who is in charge, Vers _-Rogg?”_

Her breath noticeably hitches at his use of her full name and he can’t deny the pride that swells within him at her reaction. _Yes, you’re mine,_ he thinks wickedly. Vers is evidently intrigued by his proposition and if the way she rubs her thighs together is any inclination, she’s also unsurprisingly turned on by it. She wets her lips, thoughts drifting to a place he wishes he could visit. She mewls, “Maybe.”

His voice is far rougher, tainted by hunger, when he asks, “Shall I remind you?”

Vers nods her consent.

A heartbeat later, Yon straddles her thigh, effectively holding her down but also giving her the kindness of friction against his knee. Like the ill-behaved woman he knows, she takes pleasure in his small mercy. His fingertips glide across her face before he wraps his hand around her neck. Vers doesn’t even flinch and he sees the undeserved trust in her eyes. Yon leans down to kiss her tenderly, a much softer gesture in comparison. 

Vers trails a hand down his chest appreciatively, fingers pausing at the edge of his pants before withdrawing her touch. Her hesitance strikes him as odd because it’s entirely uncharacteristic of his blushing bride and not what he had anticipated. Truthfully, he wanted her to bite off more than she could chew so he could teach her a lesson. Although, he’s starting to second guess that desire. As much as he wants control, he also wants her to be comfortable. Yon breaks their kiss and releases her throat, “Are you okay?”

When he pulls back to look at her face, she is harboring a mix of emotions that he can’t label properly, “I…I was drunk, or whatever, last time—I don’t know if I’m good at this or not. I don’t want to disappoint.”

Yon realizes that he made a miscalculation and feels wholly ridiculous for not realizing it until now. The matter of virginity in his society is a ridiculous one in his opinion—a hindrance. He’s never paid it much mind, especially when concerning Vers. After Mar-Vel mistakenly abandoned their cause, he was the one tasked with hunting her down on C-53. For the sake of the mission, he researched the species he planned to encounter. The planet was overrun by lust, greed, and sentiment. As far as he knew, purity wasn’t something explicitly valued past a certain age. The species was weak…all but one in his biased opinion.

He’s not naïve enough to believe that Vers lived a life without suitors. Between her brilliance, her skill, and her looks, he expects she broke many hearts before beating her way into his own. Idiotically it seems, Yon made a mistake when he assumed that she had fallen into bed with _at least someone_ since he brought her to Hala. Surely others saw what he did in her; certainly, others craved her presence as he did. Jealousy would consume him every time he was sent on a mission off-planet without her because he believed she was entertaining her vices with admirers. The Supreme Intelligence had even alluded to the fact that Vers had the _right—_

It must have been a test.

Guilt settles in his bones as he views his impulsive behavior on Seduitera under a new light. Unfortunately, he’s hard and his common sense is waning at a worrying rate. A hazardous thought dances through his mind as he looks down at her. As much as the concept of virginity bores him, he likes the idea of her being a clean slate. Just as he cultivated her intuitions as a warrior, he would coax her instincts as a lover. Yon’s impossibly smug when he says, “You have an alarmingly steep learning curve. Let me teach you?”

Vers rolls her eyes, words tainted with an undeniable challenge, “And just how are you going to do that?”

“First, I’m going to help you relax,” Yon kisses her forehead before he stands, sinking to his knees in front of the mattress. It’s a rare position for him, one he never takes lightly. Vers eagerly watches him, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look. He grips her ankles, finding solace in the gasp she releases when he pulls her closer. He’s pretty sure he heard her mumbled the word _ass_ under her breath, but he ignores it. Yon pulls at the band of her shorts, rolling the fabric down her legs until she’s fully exposed to him. At this, she does not offer a slick remark. Feeling victorious when he notices the quickened rise and fall of her chest, he places a wet kiss against her inner thigh. If he nips at her skin, it’s only because she’s made herself so appetizing for him. Vers sucks in a deep breath the way she does before a sparring match when he brings her leg over his shoulder. Yon huskily says, “Let yourself feel…but try not to blow anything up.”

Before she can counter with a clever witticism, he parts her obscenely wet folds with a teasing finger and places his mouth directly on her clit. Vers whimpers on contact and he has to put a firm had on her hip, so she doesn’t buck too hard against him. Yon experimentally flicks his tongue until he finds a rhythm that satisfies her. Vers makes a sound in the back of her throat when he inserts his finger into her, and it makes him dreadfully needy for more. His erection is almost painful, but he’s not done proving his point. 

Yon adds another finger, refusing to go easy on her because she expects his best.

Vers starts to wantonly grind against his face when she gets used to the stretch. Her taste, her scent his making him delirious in the best way. Yon winces when she grips his hair, but the pain adds to his all-consuming lust and redefines his goals. His little seductress almost does him in when her body curls into the pleasure and she loudly moans, “Yon— _fuck_ , more. Please.” 

He bends to her will, but only because she asked so nicely. Yon crooks his fingers inside of her, praising an entire galaxy’s worth of deities for the similarities between Kree and human anatomy. He quickens his pace until the bedroom is filled with her appealing sounds. Yon wants to swallow them all, but his mouth is too busy driving her mad. Her legs begin to shake, a sure sign of victory, and he knows that she is close to falling apart. He removes his mouth from her so he can work tight circles on her clit with his thumb. Vers sinks into the mattress, hips rising, as her entire body tenses. She curses when she cums and he thinks about filling her filthy mouth as punishment, but he knows she’s not ready. 

When she comes down from her high, she starts laughing. If he were a lesser man, he might be offended, but instead, he just grins at her dignified defeat. He carefully drops her leg from his shoulder so he can stand to pull the rest of his clothing off. As much as it pleases him to have won, he put himself in a poor position to do so. Vers watches him through sated eyes, rising to remove her last article of clothing. She bares herself to him, lying back down against the comforter with a contented sigh. It’s a sinfully peaceful sight. From his position, he can see the glisten of arousal painting her thighs and the stubborn color beneath her skin. He fishes the protection he pocketed this morning from his pocket before ditching his pants and briefs.

Her voice carries its usual teasing tone when she asks, “Hopeful, Commander?”

He doesn’t incriminate himself with a response, but yes, he had been _hopeful_ when he went back to his quarters to prepare for the day this morning. Vers worries her lip, probably without her knowledge, when he delicately strokes himself before applying protection. He doesn’t plan on sharing her any time soon, which is why he insisted on Minn-Erva visiting her after he finally came to his senses following the events on Seduitera. He would prefer a more reasonable form of protection, naturally, but he’s not going to make that decision for her.

Yon makes his way to the bed, looking for signs that she isn’t ready for this step. He grabs an untouched pillow from the top of the bed to place under her head. Vers is compliant under his ministrations, eyes never wavering from him even when he takes a step back to observe her. With the authority that she granted him, he says, “Spread your legs for me.”

Vers does as she’s told after pausing to narrow her eyes at him like a brat.

“More,” Yon demands as penance for her reluctance.

She doesn’t hesitate a second time.

He places a kiss at the corner of her mouth as he positions himself between her thighs. Yon looks down at her—his wife—with adoration. He brushes her wild hair from her face, voice cracking when he asks, “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” Vers says gently, touching his cheek reassuringly before teasingly adding with a shift of her hips, “Very comfortable.”

His mouth dips to the spot on her neck that turns her to putty. Every instinct he has is telling him to fuck her hard, but he wills himself to move slowly. Yon blindly reaches for her thigh, moving her leg over his hip with her assistance. Her breasts push against his chests and he makes a mental note to cherish them extra next time when he’s not on the verge of madness. Vers cranes her neck in the opposite direction, signaling her desire for equal attention. Yon pushes the head of his cock into her while simultaneously sucking relentlessly on her pulse point.

“Oh, yes,” Vers breathes as her head sinks into the pillow. He gives her time to adjust before pushing forward, then pulls out only to repeat. With each new thrust, he goes deeper and earns a satisfying hum in return. Vers is tight around him, and he knows she’s soaking wet despite the thin layer between them. His intentionally slow movements are maddening, but he doesn’t want to hurt her by moving too fast. Inopportunely, he can sense her displeasure with the tortuous pace. Vers encourages him, “Don’t show mercy, now, Commander. I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

He fights the urge to fully plunge into her with a deprived groan. Yon whispers the word “temptress” into the slick, abused skin of her neck with an affectionate smile before biting down on the fleshy part of her skin. Vers rolls her hips as payback, taking more of him than he intended. The strangled noise that comes from his mouth causes her to huff a trace of a laugh. Vers sneaks her other leg around his waist, digging her heel into his back. Her defiance shatters the semblance of willpower he had left.

Yon rises, only so he can return his hand to her throat, but the shift in angle makes her moan, “There he is.”

She grins, satisfied with herself.

 _I’m so fucked,_ he thinks as he pulls out then fully thrusts into her. Vers whimpers, not so full of herself now. Yon smirks, “When you’re limping tomorrow, I want you to remember this moment.” He repeats the motion, slamming back into her harder. Vers cries out, but the smile still rests on the corner of her lips, “Is this what you want? Me to fuck you like this?”

He snaps his hips against hers and she moans, “Yes. _Yes,_ this is what I want. More. Now.”

Yon does not speed up, sticking to the hard but slow thrusts, “That’s not how you ask, Vers. Forget yourself one more time and I’ll finish myself off.” Vers looks up at him with wide eyes, trying to figure out if he’s bluffing or not. It wouldn’t be nearly as pleasurable, but he’ll keep his word if she makes him.

He grinds into her and her eyes flutter closed, “Please, fuck me harder.”

Yon meets her needs, feeling utterly relieved. He flattens her left leg against the mattress, holding it down with the palm of his hand while keeping his other hand safely around her neck. He flattens her leg against the mattress, holding it down with the palm of his hand. The change in position makes her growl his name and he has to pointedly prevent himself from instantly cumming. Yon closes his eyes, trying his best to maintain a firm pace and not lose himself. His orgasm is sneaking up his spine and he knows he can’t hold back for long. In an attempt to himself out, he releases her throat, but it doesn’t do him any good. He groans, “Touch yourself.”

She enthusiastically follows his order with a speed she’s never exhibited before. He can feel her hands working fast between them and it’s enough to send him over the edge. At this point, they’re probably disturbing her neighbors but he can’t will himself to give a single fuck right now. Vers pants in a way that almost sounds like a sob, “I need more.”

She withdraws her hand to wrap her arms around his shoulders, holding onto him for dear life. He’s barely making it, but he’ll be damned if he denies her. He grabs her calf and moves her leg until her knee almost rests against her chest. Her pussy is so tight in this position that he can’t think straight. Vers starts whining incoherent commendations and he knows if he could properly hear them, his ego would never deflate. His orgasm is staved off by another sensation, one a great deal more dangerous: _heat_.

Vers is teetering on the edge of her second orgasm, but this time every inch of her body feels like it is on fire. She seems oblivious to her condition, but he can feel the rising temperatures against his shoulders. Orange light filters through the bedroom just as her walls tighten around him. Quickly, he grabs her wrists, locking them above her head as her entire body begins to shake. The only logic he can follow right now is that if she’s going to kill him, then at least he’ll leave this world with a smile on his face. 

Vers falls apart with his full name on her lips, a wonderful sound in his book and then the wicked woman coos, “Cum in me, Commander.”

An undignified groan breaks through his clenched teeth and he has to fight the urge to pass out as his orgasm rips through him. The only thing keeping him tethered to reality is the fact that her skin is uncomfortably hot against him. He tries not to bring attention to it as he rolls off of her, but he knows that he has to cool her down somehow. He glances over at her and finds that she is covered in a layer of sweat. The roots of her hair are damp, and she looks wrecked beyond measure or at least thoroughly fucked. With a sigh, he pushes himself off the mattress and walks to her bathroom, discarding the used protection in the trashcan by her sink. Having spent the least amount of time in her bathroom, compared to other places, it takes him a moment to find a washrag. He cleans himself and tosses the rag into the hamper. He finds another clean rag and wets it with the coldest water he can manage.

When he walks back into the bedroom, Vers looks as if she is asleep. He does his best to cool her down with the rag while simultaneously cleaning her so she can sleep peacefully. It takes some time for her temperature to stabilize, and he knows that he needs to evaluate whether sex is a good thing when it might trigger her full abilities. He rationalizes that it just takes proper training, that he can teach her how to control it. Of course, when they’re sparring, he actually _is_ in control of himself so it’s easier to teach. Sex is an entirely different challenge. 

When he stands to put the used cloth in the hamper, she startles him, “Are you going to stay?”

His knee-jerk reaction is to say yes, but he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. After they decide on a housing situation, they will constantly be sharing a space. He doesn’t want to intrude on her last few nights of freedom without her consent. He asks, “Do you want me to stay?”

“Of course,” Vers yawns, unimpressed that he would even ask.

He does not redress when he returns to her room. Vers has repositioned herself to lay properly in bed, leaving just enough room for his body to squeeze beside her. Her naked figure is tucked underneath the comforter and he finds it wholly ironic that she’s cold. Yon slides under the comforter knowing that it’s a death sentence but wanting to feel her skin against his while he can. Vers eases herself into his arms, placing her head against his chest.

He wants to confess a hundred different things to her—even treasonous things, but he settles on an easier truth, “My mother wants us to come to dinner tomorrow night so she can meet you. You can say no.”

Vers is silent and he assumes that she has truly fallen asleep. He strokes her hair, thinking about how she will react to his parents and to the world he’s tried so hard to leave behind given her acceptance to their invitation. He fears her disgust, and her rejection based on his mere association and ties to the House of Rogg. Yon also fears showing his main weakness to his parents so outwardly. They don’t deserve to be privy to the things that bring him to his knees. He jumps when she says, “I’ll go given I have ample preparation and an emergency getaway plan.”

Yon snorts teasingly, “So, you can properly plan for missions?”

Vers giggles, “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took my sweet time writing this chapter but I personally think it turned out great. Let me know what you think in the comments. 
> 
> [Comments keep me motivated]
> 
> What has been your favorite part so far, and what are you hoping to see in the future?
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> Norvina


	6. Chapter 6

_Vers_

_ “Okay, cheater, repeat after me. The rules of engagement are—” _

Her mouth opens to repeat the words, a half-formed smile on her lips, but then the moment is pulled back into the barricades of her mind with a shrill scream in an ugly language she can’t remember. It sounded like a plea, even without the assistance of her universal translator, and for a brief second, she considers following it. Saving it from the fate that awaits. 

Vers blinks rapidly as she regains consciousness but remains unaware of what transpired behind her closed eyes mere seconds ago. There are no words to replay, no faces to recognize and as far as she knows, she’s simply had another nightmare. She even tricks herself into thinking that it’s the  _ same nightmare  _ because she has nothing else to fear, right? Vers recognizes the thick weight on her chest but she can’t shake it this time. The pain often gives her an edge, and due to the fact that it’s purely psychological, she can bat it away without even gritting her teeth. Not this time, though. It twists within her like some sick, dying foreign thing. 

Her room doesn’t seem right in her sleep-addled mind as if something has been stolen from under her nose, but she can’t remember what it is or it’s significance—only that it once belonged and made things  _ balanced,  _ but now it’s gone and unattainable. A headache begins to blossom near her temples and she has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from swearing. 

On instinct, she searches for an anchor to bring her back from the depths. Her breath comes out in heavy pants and blackness swirls around her eyes in a way she’s never experienced. The only feeling she can relate it to is being drunk, but even that doesn’t give it justice. Vers registers movement on the far side of the bed, suddenly remembering that she did not fall asleep alone. She turns her head quickly, finding comfort in the Commander’s presence. 

A peculiar fuzziness clings to every intelligible thought until it echoes dumbly in her head. Stubborn as ever, she tries to shake it only finding her mental enemy a worthy opponent. Vers pulls herself upwards, hating the difficulty in the task and dreading the rush of dizziness that accompanies her upright position. In this position, her thoughts become slightly clearer as if she is breaking through the haze. She can feel the droplets of sweat on her forehead, and how abnormally wet her hair feels against the clammy skin of her back. 

Vers turns to look at Yon-Rogg, worry etched in the dip of her eyebrows. Despite the fog, she knows she fell asleep tucked close to his body. She knows that she felt safe, and cared for, and the exact opposite of what she feels now. Yon has pulled away from her throughout the night and found purchase on his stomach on the edge of the bed in a rather uncomfortable position. The comforter has been kicked down to the bottom of his feet, leaving his naked body exposed to the temperature-controlled room.

He should be freezing, but he’s also sweating profusely. 

_ It’s me,  _ she realizes in a rare moment of clarity. It’s useless but she tries to remember a time when she struggled to contain her powers to this degree. Her usual methods of disobedience and neglect are quick flashes of anger—holes in training facility walls, melted communicators and the occasional injured bystander. Vers has never experienced prolonged, involuntary burning and the thought that she might be taking a significant step backward terrifies her. 

Vers moves to sit on the edge of the bed, willing herself to reel in whatever is causing her to malfunction so she can return to the happiness she felt mere hours ago. She suffers in silence, unwilling to wake Yon up with her efforts because she fears his reaction. Instinctually, she knows something is deeply wrong but she can’t take another hit. It’s bad enough that every time she wants to go into the field, he makes her worth and value. Yon would be insufferable if he had indisputable evidence that she wasn’t as in control as she insisted during their debates. 

The room starts to spin and she…

_ Sees _ things that aren’t there?

Posters and images and…

Vers blinks and the space rights itself. 

Her mind is playing tricks on her. She must have briefly fallen asleep, that’s all. 

Vers decides to take a shower to combat the fog. If she stumbles most of the way to the bathroom, it’s only because she’s tired and not because of the dizziness circling the back of her brain. Vers doesn’t fancy herself a masochist so she turns the water temperature to something on the cold side but with enough heat that she won’t shriek on contact. It’s a reasonable maneuver, but one that she learns is entirely unnecessary. 

At first, she felt better. Clearer, even, but before she can bask in her self-sufficiency, a wave of pain wrecks through her head.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream. 

Vers closes her eyes against the agony, feeling the urge to collapse. Her hands hit the wall with a loud, desperate slap and she cranks the water to the lowest temperature. She can barely process the pang of guilt that jumps through her at the thought of disturbing Yon before her legs start to give. She presses harder against the wall,  _ praying  _ to something she can’t remember that she doesn’t fall. Whatever it is, she must be too far away for it to hear her. 

Her world slips and rationally, she thinks she might be lucid dreaming. 

At least, she hopes she is or she’s truly lost it. 

Vers opens her eyes, pain still brewing underneath the surface, and the first thing she thinks is  _ this is not my shower.  _ Her common-sense tries to shake away the dream because she  _ knows  _ these are her quarters. An aggressively desperate voice whines,  _ this is not your shower.  _

Another wave of pain runs through her and she furrows her brows against it, turning her head to face the small shelving system that holds her toiletries. The labels start to blur until the letters and logos transform into something thin but wholly familiar. Something tells her if she opened the bottles and inhaled, she would find  _ that scent _ she’s been searching for after all this time. 

Vers allows herself to sink to the floor until she softly lands on her side with a wet sliding sound that makes her ears hurt more than they already do. The water beats down on her head and truly, she shouldn’t be able to hear anything under the spray but she  _ can.  _

Alouette.

_ Alouette.  _

A young boy is speaking to her and he’s telling her a story--one she can’t understand, but his voice makes her think of  _ home.  _

Steam rises as the ice-cold water touches her skin. Her teeth chatter as a series of intense shivers pass through her. Vers curls into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. Tears flood her eyes as the foreign story plays in her mind. 

The voice changes to a young girl’s and Vers turns her head away from the spray to take a deep breath of realization. 

_ Don’t you remember her?  _

And for a moment, she does. 

Her name is Monica and she’s her niece. 

_ Monica. _

_ Maria. _

_ Steven. _

_ Lawson. _

_ Fear. Gold eyes. Explosions.  _

“It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real,” Her broken sobs echo over the rush of water. For a moment, she remembers everything. Her mother’s eyes and her father’s disappointment. She can remember the way her brother loved her before he died.  _ He died in the war.  _

She decided to fight because of him. 

She can remember faces, and people, and beliefs, and  _ everything  _ she used to be. 

And then a sickening thought occurs to her:

_ I’m not real. _

She releases a blood-curdling scream and doesn’t stop until water invades her mouth and she can’t breathe. 

The shower door flies open seconds later and the water ceases. Yon hisses when he touches her skin and she’s aware that he’s saying her name. The name they gave her. He’s asking her questions, begging her to answer but she doesn’t care. She knows that she’s burning him when he pulls her forward in his arms. 

She meets his eyes, hatred and love swimming in them in the most violent of ways.

“What did you do to me?” Carol cries in the language he stole from her. The horror on his face pleases and disgusts her at the same time and her entire being feels like it’s splitting in half. 

Another surge of pain hits her and her entire world turns to black. 

-x-

Her mouth oddly tastes like medicine when she wakes from a shockingly dreamless sleep. Vers rubs her face against her pillowcase, searching for reality in the drowsiness that persists. The pillow she is hugging close to her body smells magnificent. Like him. Her eyes open, hoping to see his face in a scarce state of sleepy peace but much to Vers’s immediate displeasure, she finds herself alone. Her hand glides over the spot Yon is supposed to be occupying, finding it to be cold despite her expectations. Disappointment wells in her stomach against her usual pride. 

_ He said he would stay.  _

Vers’s ears prick at the sound of someone speaking lowly in her living room. 

Yon. 

And he’s with someone. 

She rolls out of bed unceremoniously. Typically, she would feel alert and ready for battle at the thought of an intruder occupying her space without her invitation, but right now she’s simply curious. Plus, the bundle of emotions customarily paired with unwanted guests seems dim with the realization that this is the third time someone has let themselves into her space without her permission in the last 48 hours. By now, she should be used to it. 

It takes her far too long to realize that she is wearing more clothes than she went to bed in. Yon’s shirt hangs loosely around her form, tickling her legs as she involuntarily sways on the balls of her feet. Her face colors when her muscles ache against her movements, mind twirling around Yon’s heated warning from last night. 

Her steps are purposely soft as she attempts to tip-toe out of her room, facing some difficulty due to the pleasurable pull of her muscles. Graceful really isn’t her specialty and her temporary lack of coordination doesn’t help. Still, if her  _ husband  _ is going to be conducting secret meetings in her quarters, she’s going to at least eavesdrop. 

Vers presses her back against the wall in a humorously casual manner, confidence vibrating through her. The hem of his shirt rises up her legs precariously and she hopes that he takes notice when she makes her presence known. Unfortunately, Vers is unaware that her hair is in a wild state of disarray, and that her eyes are bloodshot and irritated. Rather than unreservedly sexy, she looks quite intimidating. 

Yon is standing with his back to her, thankfully clothed, while Minn-Erva distracts her hands with the contents of her medical kit. She’s still wearing her sleep clothes, which are by far more conservative than Vers would have ever thought. Regardless, a burst of possessiveness slides down her throat at the sight of them standing close together in the dark. Vers squashes it with the reminder that Yon belongs to her. 

Despite popular belief, she knows how to school her expressions when necessary. Vers could be an extremely effective member of Starforce when she truly applied herself; the rules are just boring and stupidly uptight, not worth hopelessly following. Of course, her train of thought has gotten her into quite a bit of trouble and forced her to take on more training than necessary. Even then, she suspects that when Yon trained her so diligently, he probably never considered she would use his methods to openly spy on him. 

Minn-Erva’s lips are pursed as if she is trying her best to mind her tongue. Vers missed the first part of their discussion but she’s patently enthralled now. Vers observes Yon’s form, desire echoing through her as she pushes back memories of last night. At this point, it would be easier to pounce on him than to stay against the wall. 

Yon’s shoulders are rigid with unshed rage and it licks at something inside of her, but then she notes the position of his feet— a basic sparring stance. Vers doesn’t catch the words he mutters, but whatever he said triggered Minn-Erva because the next thing she knows, the medic is vehemently hissing in a foreign language. 

Yon raises his voice, but not so loud that it would disturb Vers if she were actually sleeping. His caution gives her a sense of pride because it means that he is not aware of her, yet. His deadly tone causes her momentary arrogance to flee. Minn-Erva’s head snaps up, eyes piercing into his with pronounced fury. Her lips curl back and she delivers a seemingly seething blow in the same alien language. Vers recognizes the challenge in Minn-Erva’s facial features, so used to seeing it in the mirror. 

It is cruelly exhilarating to see the most composed members of her team bending against their own advice because of emotion. For so long, they have allowed her to think they are immune to rage and impulsive behavior. Yon has already revealed his infirmity in potently coquettish ways, but she’s never seen his highly defensive temper before. Intelligibly, Vers knows that she is involved. 

Why else would they argue in code?

Yon takes a domineering step forward when Minn-Erva’s voice rises. The woman’s eyes are alight with panic, but her voice is strong with contempt. It bothers Vers on a chemical level to see Minn-Erva openly disrespect Yon, but she doesn’t violently intercede despite her urges. 

Vers considers what it would do to the team dynamic if she openly crossed that line and how they wouldn’t be able to function in the field with that much looming tension. Also, if she blasts Minn-Erva through the wall, they’ll somehow end up with the upper hand and she’ll be the one getting the lecture while their lapses will be forgotten. 

Minn-Erva stops yelling and takes a deep breath to pull herself back together. 

Vers uses the moment to coolly interrupt, “Why are you here, Minn-Erva?” 

She has to bite back the smile that threatens to break across her face at their surprise. Yon turns around, practically shielding Minn-Erva from view unintentionally like she needs protecting. He surveys Vers openly, eyes involuntarily landing on the expanse of her exposed thighs. When he looks at her directly, she can read the concern in his eyes despite all those scientific studies. Except, there’s more than simple worry… she sees _fear_?

Vers cocks an eyebrow to establish her confusion, hoping one of them will explain what’s going on. She can’t deny the unsettling feeling snaking around her heart. Yon clears his throat, shaking off his fighting stance and replacing it with something kinder. He asks slowly, “How are you feeling?”

Her confusion deepens, but she manages to push herself off the wall in a collected way, “Annoyed, mostly. You’re supposed to be in bed.” 

Yon rolls his eyes at her brashness but she catches the small tug at the corner of his mouth and the relieved breath he releases. Minn-Erva moves away from Yon and towards Vers with her medkit in hand, speaking discourteously over her shoulder, “We need privacy. Please leave.”

“Careful,” Yon bites out, his sour mood rekindling. Minn-Erva appears unphased except for the tightening of her shoulders. 

Her second dismissal is softer but still packed with the tension from their argument, “Take a walk, Commander. Clear your head. It has been a long night.” 

Yon turns to Vers to say something, possibly to offer an explanation for the confusing situation, but the words die on his tongue. Vers doesn’t know what to make of it. Her brain hasn’t caught up with everything because there are too many missing pieces. Minn-Erva’s presence is unnerving, though. It is clear that she is there as a medic, and not as a teammate. Vers distinctly remembers using protection last night, so it’s not like she’s here to stick another needle in her ass. Instead of providing clarity, he breathes, “You can trust Minn-Erva,” before he walks out of her quarters. 

Vers eyes widen in shock and she makes a move to follow him out the door despite her state of undress. Deep down, she knows something is intensely wrong and she wants nothing more than to help him. It’s not in her nature to be immensely comforting, but she wants to wrap him in her arms and take him back to the europhia they felt hours ago. Bring back the fleeting glimpse of a man she saw so briefly instead of the orderly figure he presents to the world. Regardless, she can’t be anyone’s savior if she’s left in the dark. 

Minn-Erva loses her patience and snarls, “Sit down, Vers!”

Minn-Erva’s pitiless words fuel the anger inside of Vers and she feels her hands heating before she can think better of it, “I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to Minn-Erva, but I suggest you watch your tone.” The medic takes notice of her glowing fists, and yields with a nod. Vers accepts her concession because of the curiosity bubbling in her stomach and the disquiet brewing in Minn-Erva’s eyes. She sits down at the kitchen counter as Minn-Erva opens her medkit and starts fumbling for whatever she needs in silence. Vers sighs, “What’s going on?”

“You lost consciousness in the shower. Do you remember?” Minn-Erva makes direct eye contact, evaluating her response as if Vers has committed a crime. 

Her legs start bouncing with the knowledge that she has lost another memory.  _ Another fucking memory.  _ Vers doesn’t recall taking a shower last night, but suddenly waking up in Yon’s shirt takes on a different context. 

He must have been so worried. 

She feels more broken than she thought she could at the thought. After all this time, her mind is still playing tricks on her. 

Minn-Erva looks at her expectantly, waiting for a response that Vers doesn’t know how to form. Her throat is tight with exasperation and she doesn’t want to show weakness in front of Minn-Erva of all people. She shakes her head, “No.”

“I believe you are having a poor reaction to the shot I administered because of your gifts,” Minn-Erva isn’t overtly hostile when she speaks, which does nothing to comfort Vers. If Minn-Erva is suddenly showing sympathy, things aren’t good, “On the surface, it’s just a fever. You got overheated and you passed out because of the rush of hormones in your system,” Minn-Erva explains clinically, “Unfortunately, this isn’t something I’ve encountered due to the rarity of your gifts, and although I personally believe you are fine, there is a chance the contraceptive didn’t work.”

For lack of a better response, she flatly says, “Oh.”

Minn-Erva overcompensates the awkwardness in the air with a rush of words Vers can barely process, “I gave you a fever suppressant when I first arrived. You’re no longer flushed or hot to the touch. A good sign. This is something we can control with the right dosage and preventative measures..” Vers glances at her, begging Minn-Erva to get to the point, “It’s hard enough for Starforce women to conceive when they want to because of our controlled cycles. Birth control implants and emergency contraceptives are usually unnecessary secondary methods for peace of mind. We’ll have to monitor the situation as a precaution, but statistically, the odds are in your favor.”

“How can there be statistics if this has never happened before?” Vers pinches the bridge of her nose, rapidly chasing thoughts of unplanned pregnancy out of her head, “I’m sorry...is this what you were fighting about? Is this why he’s angry?”

Minn-Erva places her hand on Vers’s cheek, trying to console her but not really knowing how to do it. The gesture is clumsy and inelegant but her efforts are appreciated if not entirely effective. Minn-Erva’s words are laced with a gentleness Vers did not know she possessed, “He doesn’t like to see you ill. The Commander does not want to see you in any form of pain. You didn’t wake for some time when you first arrived on Hala, but he never left your side. I thought...he is my oldest friend and I care for him. I’m worried about the new team dynamic now that you both are being so direct with each other. What it may mean for objectivity. That’s why we were arguing.” Something inside of Vers hisses,  _ she’s lying.  _ She has no reason to distrust Minn-Erva, but she can’t deny her unease. Vers highly doubts she is telling her the entire story because the women lack that foundation of trust. She chooses not to push forward. 

Yon should be the one to answer her questions, anyway. 

Minn-Erva withdraws her hand and returns to her former, more predictable self, “I won’t be able to give you another contraceptive, like the implant, until we know you have not conceived for sure. Six weeks at most, but I suspect sooner.”

“I understand,” Vers mumbles and on a scientific level, she does. 

“As women, we are taught that hormonal suffering is less, but that is unfactual. Seeing as you seem to be getting the worst of the symptoms, know that you may feel dizzy, tired, depressed, and even sick. I’m going to leave some medicine here for your fever. It needs to be monitored. I will have to acquire more if it does not ease up within the next couple of days. I’m sure Yon-Rogg will keep an eye on it as well. For now, try to rest and avoid unnecessary stress,” Minn-Erva pulls out two vials of dark purple liquid, placing them on the counter in front of her. 

Vers bites her lip as she is reminded of the conversation she had just before going to bed last night, “Avoiding stress might be a little difficult. I’m supposed to have dinner with the in-laws tonight.”

“I see...I doubt you’re properly prepared,” Minn-Erva says, looking around Vers’s quarters as if that’s all the evidence she needs. 

“Hey!” 

Minn-Erva rolls her eyes, “Look, the Commander is able to skirt tradition because of his status, but you won’t be granted the same pass. As your medic, it would be unwise of me to send you into the pit without guidance. I’ll help you so you don’t embarrass us all.” 

Vers shrugs, “It’s just dinner.”

“It’s cute that you believe that.”

She squints, “Elaborate.”

Minn-Erva finishes reorganizing the medkit to make up for the missing vials. Vers waits for an answer, her anxiety worsening with every passing second. Finally, she explains, “They’re trying to figure out if you’re worthy of their last name, and as much as I don’t care for you, you are...they just won’t see it like that if you present yourself in an unfit light. Especially with Yon’s backwards stance on having a formal ceremony. What time is dinner?” 

Vers wants to ask about Minn-Erva’s ceremony comment but she doesn’t think she can handle any more truth bombs at the moment. Instead, she breathes, “We never really discussed it.” 

Minn-Erva rolls her eyes, making assumptions about what they  _ did  _ discuss last night. Vers could correct her about the timeline of events but she doesn’t. Minn-Erva straightens, “I will be in my quarters all day, taking advantage of this supposed time off. Stop by no later than four hours prior to dinner.” 

Horrified, Vers asks, “Four hours?” 

Minn-Erva picks up her bag and starts to walk to the door, “I need sufficient time to fix you. Rest, Vers. It’s still dark out.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, 
> 
> This chapter is a little short but packed with a lot of central plot. I'm already working on the next chapter and it's LONG (and hopefully fantastic). COMMENTS KEEP ME MOTIVATED! What was your favorite part of Chapter 6 and what's something you hope happens in the future?
> 
> XOXO, 
> 
> Norvina
> 
> P.S. I hope you got as emotional reading this chapter as I did writing it.


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